Under the Influence
by MrsMarySmythe
Summary: A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.) COMPLETE
1. Chapter One: No Credit on Either

**Title: **Under the Influence  
**Rating:** M – for sexual situations just this side of explicit.  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting: **Regency

**Summary:** A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"I can readily believe...that report may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either."

– Mr Darcy, _Pride & Prejudice_, Volume I, Chapter 18

* * *

_**Chapter One:**__ No Credit on Either_

Elizabeth

_Tuesday November 26, 1811_

After attempting various conversational openings with Mr Darcy during the dance she had not been able to excuse herself from, Elizabeth heaved a great breath of frustration. If he preferred to be silent, why not continue prowling around the room glaring at everyone instead of inflicting his presence upon unlucky her? Was he finding some amusement in torturing her with his company? It was the only reasonable explanation she could think of.

She was tempted to remain silent, but it occurred to her that it might be more punishment for him to speak than not. Feeling impish, Elizabeth tried one more topic that was sure to stir her partner into saying something in return. "When you met us the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."

As Elizabeth had expected, the effect was immediate. Though he clearly resisted saying anything in response, his jaw clenching so tight that she feared for the state of his teeth, the deeper shade of _hauteur_ overspreading his features could not be ignored. At length Mr Darcy spoke, saying, "Mr Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his _making_ friends – whether he may be equally capable of _retaining_ them, is less certain."

"He has been so unlucky as to lose _your_ friendship," Elizabeth countered, her own ire beginning to rise in defense of her absent friend, "and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life."

Mr Darcy had nothing to say to that. Though what his justification could possibly be, Elizabeth could not fathom. There was no exonerating explanation for the malfeasance he had visited upon poor Mr Wickham.

From the edge of the dance floor, Elizabeth spotted Sir William Lucas coming toward them with his genial smile spread wide. Surely he did not mean to interrupt them in the middle of a set! '_But that would be just like him_,' Elizabeth thought with equal amounts of wryness and indulgence.

Unfortunately for Sir William, yet a boon for all the dancers going down the line in swirls of lace and silk, he was waylaid by the only other man in the room capable of speaking longer on a topic than himself. Mr Collins emerged from the crowd and stopped Sir William to have a word – or fifty – with him about something or other that wasn't audible to Elizabeth, yet would presumably lead back to venerating his patroness. Her neighbor would then expound on his knighthood and experiences at St James' and the two would go back and forth without any reference to whatever the other was saying. Elizabeth could imagine it all with great amusement.

The dance ended with a smattering of polite applause from the participants for the musicians. Ladies were led from the floor by their partners and returned to their families, some offered punch or lemonade for refreshment, and the whole room chattered with good natured conversation. Only dour Mr Darcy refused to be merry.

As they approached the sofa upon which Mrs Bennet chatted with Lady Lucas, Elizabeth made one more impetuous attempt at getting Mr Darcy to speak on the matter of his former friend. "I remember hearing you once say, Mr Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeaseable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to it's being created."

"I am."

"And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?"

"I hope not."

"It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first," admonished Elizabeth with a pert smile.

Mr Darcy, ever stoic and serious, persisted in that attitude, though Elizabeth thought there might be a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "May I ask to what these questions tend?" he queried, stopping them just out of the hearing range of the matrons on the sofa ahead of them. Mrs Bennet hadn't even noticed their approach and continued gesticulating wildly about something to Lady Lucas. Elizabeth could just make out the words "Bingley," "Jane" and "five thousand a year."

Elizabeth, as much to distract Mr Darcy from the vulgar conversation going on around him as to appease her own curiosity, replied, "Merely to the illustration of your character. I am trying to make it out."

Mr Darcy retained ownership of her hand upon his arm, placing his gloved palm atop her fingers to hold it in place. "And what is your success?"

She shook her head. "I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."

Mr Darcy took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, he directed his gaze to hers and she was caught by how stormy the gray irises appeared. "It might behoove you to consider the motives of a man who would so easily, and without provocation, slander another to a stranger. I have told you before that I have faults enough, Miss Bennet, yet speaking ill of old acquaintances who were once friends has never been one of them. I know not what Mr Wickham has told you, though I can guess, but I would ask that you refrain from sketching my character upon his word alone."

Elizabeth blinked, startled at his eloquent reprimand. She had never heard him speak so many words together before and could think of nothing suitable to say in response.

Mr Darcy, struggling with some emotion he would not reveal, bowed over her captured hand and bid her a good evening before leaving her in that same spot. His back weaved through the crush toward the exit of the ballroom and he was gone from her sight within seconds. Elizabeth stayed rooted to the floor for some time longer until one of her sisters called for attention.

o0o

After participating in two more dances, Elizabeth was as parched as she was troubled by her confrontation with Mr Darcy. She had not seen him again after his departure from her presence and she presumed that he had taken himself off to bed. Why subject himself to the dancing savages after also being roundly insulted by an impertinent country miss?

Elizabeth approached the refreshment table with Jane, whose previous partner had already gone to collect his next, and she dipped up a cup of punch for each of them. Struggling a little for her usual pertness, the younger sister appealed to the elder, "And what have you learned of Mr Wickham? Or have you been too pleasantly engaged to think of any third person? If that be the case, you may be sure of my pardon."

"No," replied Jane, "I have not forgotten him, but I have nothing satisfactory to tell you. Mr Bingley does not know the whole of his history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have principally offended Mr Darcy, but he will vouch for the good conduct, the probity and honor of his friend, and is perfectly convinced that Mr Wickham has deserved much less attention from Mr Darcy than he has received; and I am sorry to say by his account, as well as his sister's, Mr Wickham is by no means a respectable young man. I am afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr Darcy's regard."

Elizabeth, who only earlier that evening would have been tempted to counter this recitation with conjectures about Mr Bingley not knowing Mr Wickham personally or his sister being prejudiced against him for his origins, held back from responding as Mr Darcy's earlier scolding rang in her ears. How could she accuse those that might argue in favor of Mr Darcy when she, herself, was lacking all the facts in the case? She had Mr Wickham's word, but nothing else to exonerate him with.

"Lizzy?"

Elizabeth smiled at Jane as she broke from her musings and then took a sip of punch to delay her inevitable answer, which she had yet to form. It tasted a little strong, perhaps, but was quite delicious. "I honestly do not know what to think, Jane. Mr Wickham was so charming and open, but now I wonder at the propriety of his having such a conversation with me at all. We had not known each other more than a few hours and he told me something very personal regarding himself and others who, in hindsight, were not there to defend themselves. Does this make his entire story suspect?"

Jane set down her punch beside the communal bowl and touched her sister's shoulder with consoling gentleness; Elizabeth cupped her own glass between her palms and continued to sip at its contents. "I do not think it so wrong to believe another, particularly when one seems to be everything amiable and good, but perhaps it is...imprudent to accept such assertions on so short an acquaintance. Though I like to believe the best of people, and feel that I am correct to trust more often than not, it behooves us all to give very careful thought before pronouncing judgment on any of our neighbors."

"That sounds like Mary!" Elizabeth said, laughing. It wasn't funny, not really, but it was odd to hear one of Mary's pompous, moralistic statements issued in the sweet, understanding tones of dear Jane. Both meant well, but only the eldest Bennet sister had truly mastered the concept of Christian compassion and forgiveness; the middle one still required more life experience to differentiate between the truly evil and the more commonplace imperfections of mankind. To hear such a thing from Jane gave the admonishment more consequence.

Jane giggled a little herself, a response fairly required by the truth of Elizabeth's exclamation. "That's because it was she who originally said it."

"I find it amusing how something Mary says can sound so much more sensible coming from you, Jane," Elizabeth teased.

"Oh, Lizzy...," Jane replied, a hint of admonition in her tone. "Mary can be sensible, only she says things in such a way..."

"And that is why it _sounds_ more sensible coming from you," said Elizabeth. "Mary often has thoughts that would benefit from sounding less pedantic and judgmental. And her timing is often...unfortunate."

Jane could not deny that and so simply shook her head.

"In any case," Elizabeth said, bringing them back round to the subject of Mr Wickham, "I find myself...confused over what to believe. Why should Mr Wickham lie? What purpose does it serve to blacken Mr Darcy's name to strangers?"

Jane, who was more incapable of deception than anyone Elizabeth had ever met, did not have an answer. Someone as good as the angelic Jane could not fathom the motives behind immoral actions. "It is difficult, indeed – it is distressing. One does not know what to think."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement and swirled the liquid around in her glass. "Before tonight, I would have disagreed with you there. I would have much more easily believed in the possibility of Mr Bingley's being imposed upon than that Mr Wickham could have invented such a history. He gave me names, facts, everything mentioned without ceremony...there was truth in all his looks. However, I must admit that I doubt his narrative in retrospect, considering how unprovoked his attack upon Mr Darcy's reputation was. Even had Mr Darcy behaved badly in respect to Mr Wickham's prospects, it was very wrong to air his grievances in such away to one whom he has only known for such a short time."

There was a long pause between the sisters as they both considered this. Elizabeth could not speak for Jane, but she was greatly disturbed by the conflict inherent in possibly believing in one man whom she had long disliked while doubting the word of another who had been, by all appearances, friendly and trustworthy. Elizabeth had always believed in the power of first impressions, but were her powers of intuitive discernment flawed? Was it fair to judge anyone based on such short acquaintances?

At length, "Perhaps there has been some sort of mistake," Jane suggested hopefully, "and both Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham are the victims of misunderstanding or an accident." When Elizabeth laughed at this, Jane persisted, "It is possible, Lizzy!"

"I am sorry, Jane, I should not laugh," replied Elizabeth, an affectionate smile forming on her face and relaxing the tension of her previous frown. "And I shall cease distressing you over this matter forthwith. There are far more pleasant things to think about at a ball, after all. Is your dance card full yet?"

The two sisters chatted together and indulged in their beverages until the next set began, at which point Jane's next partner, Samuel Lucas, came to collect her for their dance. "Are you not dancing, Lizzy?" asked the elder Miss Bennet before departing.

"No, I think I require a rest and some fortification. I have a partner for the next and shall see you at dinner," Elizabeth promised as Jane was led away.

Elizabeth drained her cup and dipped up another glass full. She drifted away from the refreshment table and wandered amongst the crowd, occasionally greeting someone or giving out a teasing remark, mostly lost in her own musings. Mr Collins, thankfully, was dancing with Charlotte, and causing as much havoc as possible for a single man with his clumsy steps and ill-placed apologies. Elizabeth pitied her friend for being caught up in such a humiliating spectacle, but was grateful for the reprieve from Mr Collins' incessant attentions.

The case of Mr Wickham puzzled her exceedingly. She had first been inclined to dismiss Mr Darcy's admonition as judgmental, much as his behavior toward _her_ had always been, but it had been far too reasonable to discount. As friendly and charming as the new lieutenant had been, approaching her only hours after being introduced to relate such private, personal information was unusual at best and entirely inappropriate in reality. Why should he feel it necessary to blacken Mr Darcy's name to one who had already declared a dislike of the gentleman in question? Had she proclaimed to enjoy his company, some rationale might be made that he had been trying to warn her of his old friend's darker nature, but she had stated the opposite. Wishing to commiserate with another who had also been wronged by the same man might satisfy as an explanation, if not an excuse, but then the communication would still be wrong to share with strangers.

Elizabeth then remembered Mr Wickham's vow, which she had considered evidence of his better nature at the time, to never speak out against the son in honor of the father's memory. As far as she knew, she was his only confidante in the matter of his disappointments, but then he could hardly know that she was trustworthy upon meeting her. What if Elizabeth had been inclined to spread rumors? Or...had that been his intention? Had Mr Wickham deliberately told his tale of woe in hopes of it being spread amongst the community? Had that not been his aim, even telling only Elizabeth of Mr Darcy's supposed misdeeds would be a violation upon the prohibition of not speaking out against the gentleman.

As Elizabeth raised her cup of punch to her lips for a sip, another realization hit her quite forcefully. If Mr Wickham couldn't be sure of her trustworthiness upon introduction, how could _she_ be assured of _his_? Aside from his amiable manners, which spoke of a sensitive and downtrodden gentleman, what did she truly know of him that he hadn't told her himself?

Nothing.

Elizabeth was quite disturbed by her own foolishness. Kitty and Lydia were generally more prone to these types of mistakes, not she! She, who prided herself on her discernment and who had reminded Mr Darcy only an hour or two ago to be wary of judging improperly based on first impressions. He had certainly proven himself to be rude and offensive, but had he shown himself to be otherwise unchristian or unprincipled? Mr Bingley declared him to be the best of men, Jane had tried to point out the possibility of his goodness and Mr Bennet had warned her not to assign every evil to him simply because she had heard an uncharitable story about him. Even Mary, as Elizabeth had been reminded by Jane, had admonished her for "pronouncing judgment" upon him! Were they all correct? Or was her opinion of Mr Darcy, founded in prejudice over his slighting comments on her beauty, the truth? Mr Wickham's tale should be henceforth discounted as its veracity was now in question, but what of her own observations?

Unfortunately, she had little clarification there.

"Miss Elizabeth."

Elizabeth turned her head to observe Henry Golding rising from his bow with his hand raised for her to accept. After gulping the last of her punch and setting the cup on a conveniently located end table, she forced a smile and placed her gloved palm upon his. Mr Golding then led her to the dance floor and a dizzying set began.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I actually started this story before my others, but abandoned it temporarily when the muse took me elsewhere. This will be relatively short, only ten chapters and an epilogue, but it still begs to be written.

Speaking of short, this one and the next are comparatively so, but future chapters beginning with #3 are all rather lengthy. This one probably COULD be longer, but I feel like to make it any lengthier would weigh it down with angst and make it less enjoyable. Introspection should be taken in small doses. Also, I'm straying uncomfortably close to repetition (if I haven't done so already).

Bi-weekly updates every other Friday. Other stories will be updated in between, such as "Welcome Home," my Christmas fic which will begin on December 8. Possibly more as well...stay tuned!

**Next Update:** October 18, 2019  
**Expected Completion Date:** February 21, 2020

– _Mrs Mary Smythe_


	2. Chapter Two: Procuring Pardon

**Title: **Under the Influence  
**Rating:** M – for sexual situations just this side of explicit.  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting: **Regency  
**Thanks:** to nika84 who pointed out a discrepancy in the timeline related to Lady Anne Darcy's death. It's fixed now! I appreciate any/all commentary that improves my writing and/or points out correctable flaws. Much obliged :)

**Summary:** A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"...for in Darcy's breast there was a tolerable powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon, and directed all his anger against another."

– _Pride & Prejudice_, Volume I, Chapter 18

* * *

_**Chapter Two:**Procuring Pardon_

Darcy

_Tuesday November 26, 1811_

'_Who does Elizabeth Bennet think she is?' _

Darcy had rarely been so angry, except with George Wickham. Of course, that lout was at the center of his current pique, so he supposed that made a certain amount of sense. He had been in the area for mere days and somehow managed to turn the one person in the neighborhood who proved to be interesting and witty against Darcy! How had Wickham known to poison Elizabeth? He was familiar with the type of woman Darcy tended to prefer, so perhaps he had simply guessed and gotten lucky. That was usually how the man operated. Hunches and luck.

The door to Bingley's library slammed against the wall as Darcy flung it open, denting the plaster where it struck. He would pay for the damages later, but he currently had no regrets. The wall was in far better condition than he was and at least had not felt the blow. Darcy, meanwhile, still smarted at the sharp sting of Elizabeth's words as if she had flayed him across the back in a stockade.

She had implied, amongst other things, that he had been cruel and unfeeling toward Wickham over some imagined slight. Ha! As if that worm had deserved even half of what Darcy had given him – and that apart from what his father had done to improve Wickham's fortunes. A gentleman's education, no matter how the scoundrel squandered it, was no small matter when one grew up as the son of a steward. Had Wickham shown even a modicum of dedication, he could have taken up any number of professions and done better for himself than his station would have allowed him. Though the cur wasn't suitable for the church, he could have become a solicitor, a physician, a businessman – his aptitude at any of those should have been great with his cheerful, wily manners. And, as an added benefit, his monetary inheritance could have set up his household whilst he improved his circumstances as whatever he had chosen to be. But no, hard work was never something George Wickham had believed in; he wanted the easy road.

The door bounced back and Darcy caught it before it could cause him injury. Kicking it shut with the heel of his dancing pump, he marched directly over to the brandy decanter on the sideboard and pulled the stopper free. The burning aroma invaded his nostrils and he felt more at ease instantly; he poured himself a generous helping and settled in a chair by the fire to sip it.

Not even halfway through his glass, Darcy jumped back up to pace back and forth in front of the pair of matching leather armchairs that comprised his seating area. He had never been good at remaining still when confronted with a problem and he was not about to break that habit now. That blasted Wickham!

Elizabeth Bennet had been his shining beacon in this vulgar place and Wickham had spread his false tales of woe and taken that from him! Now she thought, ironically, that Darcy was the kind of cad that Wickham truly was. And why? Had he not shown her his honorable nature? Had he not he proven himself a gentleman in her presence? How could she accuse him of misdeeds that she had no direct knowledge of? She hardly knew him!

_And that is your problem, Darcy old boy_, his conscience whispered, sounding disturbingly like his cousin Richard. Whatever devil-may-care insouciance he might lack in society, his inner mind apparently cultivated to use against him. Fantastic.

Between the fire, the brandy and his relentless movement, Darcy began to grow overheated. He shrugged his black tailcoat from his shoulders, wrestling with the fitted garment until it yielded to his persuasion to remove itself from his person, and stripped it from his arms. With a frustrated huff, he discarded it in haphazard fashion upon the piece of furniture nearest to him – which one he could not say and did not care. He probably would have had easier success at divesting himself of the coat had he been willing to put his drink down first, but frustrated and angry people are often illogical and so Darcy blamed his innocent clothing for what it could not help.

As his fury over Elizabeth's baseless accusations softened and the blame was redirected toward its proper recipient – himself – Darcy drank deeply from his brandy as he berated his blasted self for being so aloof in her presence these past two months in some ridiculous effort to avoid raising her expectations. It was hardly any wonder that she could think him capable of unsavory dealings since he took pains to never speak to her, especially after her short stay under the same roof. She had proven too dangerous to his self control and he had reacted by putting her at a distance with icy civility. And then came along that viper to whisper poison in her ear.

At least he could share culpability in Elizabeth's confusion. Though Wickham, that snake, was never meant to be a Biblical scholar, he still reminded Darcy strongly of the serpent who tempted Eve in the Garden of Eden. She had not been able to resist the charms of a flicking tongue any better than Elizabeth had and been cast from paradise for her lapse.

Though, if Darcy were entirely honest, he admired Eve more than Adam, in spite of her disastrous mistake in trusting the wrong source. Far from displaying the feminine weakness that most clergymen claim is part of every member of the gentler sex, Eve had shown the strength to gather knowledge for herself when Adam had been too cowed to even make the attempt. When the serpent had tempted her, she had been foiled by the most natural and basic of human instincts: curiosity, the thirst to _know_. Elizabeth Bennet and her penchant for sketching human character reminded him strongly of the mother of all mankind in this regard. It had been Adam who had been weak when he had allowed his infatuation with Eve to overthrow all of his good sense by accepting the fruit.

Well, not Darcy. Unlike Adam, he would resist the feminine lure and leave for London in the morning before he did anything stupid. Like offer for Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He would not taste the forbidden fruit, no matter how beguilingly delicious it seemed.

Good Lord, was he already drunk? He only pondered philosophical nonsense when deep within his cups.

After some blurry thought, he conversely decided that he was, as yet, not soused _enough _so Darcy poured himself some more brandy before slumping back into his chair. He then tore the knot out of his cravat, so intricately woven by his valet earlier in the evening, and pulled it free from his collar to be discarded upon the floor. So much for impressing Elizabeth with fashionable attire. Darcy completed his dishabille by stretching his feet out toward the grate and kicking his dancing slippers off, leaving him in his stocking feet. He should go to bed, but it felt so much better to get foxed tonight.

He rarely imbibed excessively, but when he did it was usually over a woman. The first time he had really allowed himself to overindulge in drink had been when his mother had died. He had been sixteen and stealing a bottle of wine from the butler's pantry had seemed like a good idea at the time. The pain had gone away temporarily, but then been replaced by unrelenting sobs. The next morning he had been more sick than at any other time in his life and promised to never partake of so many spirits at once again, a vow which had been reinforced by a lecture by his grief-stricken father which had felt like a blacksmith's hammer pounding against the inside of his skull.

The next time Darcy had drunk himself into a stupor had been about ten years later when his sister had, against all measures of good sense, agreed to elope with Wickham from Ramsgate. He had put a stop to the impending disaster, yet knowing how terribly he had failed Georgiana by both not informing her of Wickham's dishonest and dissolute habits as well as his mistake in hiring Mrs Younge to be her guardian had driven him to self flagellation. She had come so close to destroying her life and, had she succeeded, he would have borne the brunt of the blame for it. Richard contended that, at fifteen, Georgiana should have had enough sense to know that an elopement was foolhardy at best, but Darcy had sheltered her from such things as much as possible since accepting her guardianship. He had not known what else to do; with no close female relatives to guide her, it was far easier and more comfortable for him to simply hide her away from the realities of life than confront them with her. Add to that a love of romance novels to the exclusion of almost all other forms of reading and she was bound to consider such "adventures" as romantic instead of potentially ruinous. That, too, had been his doing.

Now he was toasting to his frustration over the luminous eyes of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the one woman who had beguiled him from the first – or nearly so – and also managed to keep his attention thereafter. She was not only beautiful, but witty and intelligent. His equal in all matters of compatibility. She could form the other half of a companionate marriage, one which would emulate the union his own parents were fortunate enough to have. Where he was quiet, she was vivacious. Where he was often at a loss for what to say, she always found a clever quip in a moment. Where he was fabulously wealthy, she would bring almost nothing to the marriage but herself.

And therein lay the problem. He could afford a poor wife, of course, but she would have to otherwise compensate by having stellar connections. Elizabeth's connections were even worse than her portion; a country attorney and a tradesman in London. She was a gentleman's daughter, but her mother was not and her father was a squire of no note in a community of even less. If he dared to mention her to his relatives, they would ask "who?" and laugh at him as if he were making a joke (not that they ever expected him to make jokes).

But, otherwise, Elizabeth was so perfect. Darcy could never marry her, of course, but he so desperately wished to. It should not matter one whit if her opinion of him versus that of Mr Wickham was unfavorable, but it stung to think that she was alive in the world and thinking ill of him. Her disappointment in what she thought he had done had tarnished the connection between them, that intense affection which they could never surrender to, leaving him without even the comfort of parting on good terms.

He gulped down his second glass and rose to fill a new one. Before returning to his chair, he paused to grasp the neck of the decanter and bring it with him. It was going to be a long night.

o0o

Darcy had lounged in the library with his spirits, drifting ever closer to sleep, for nearly three hours when he heard a soft commotion outside in the corridor. Snapping awake, he listened carefully in case it was someone coming to violate his hiding place.

"Oh dear, she's slipping!"

"There now, Lizzy, hold on to my arm. Very good."

_Lizzy?_ As in, _his_ Lizzy?

Curiosity piqued, Darcy hefted himself into a standing position and, after wobbling for a moment, carefully dragged himself to the door and opened it a crack to peer out. The library in this house just so happened to be located near the base of the staircase off of the marble foyer and he could see the figures of four ladies ascending it to the next level. One, offering needless advice to the others, was ahead by several steps and appeared to be leading the way. Two others were supporting a third who was suspended between them.

"Are you well enough to take the stairs, Lizzy?" a soft, soothing voice he recognized as Jane Bennet's asked.

The one in the center teetered unsteadily for a moment, but affirmed, "Yes, I...I am well enough." That voice which always reminded him of ringing bells belonged to his Elizabeth! Was she ill?

"Just hold on tightly to us and we shall see you safely to bed," cooed the fourth woman, revealed to be Charlotte Lucas. Naturally, she would be more helpful than the rest of Elizabeth's family in such a situation.

The brandy had overtaken his brain more than an hour ago and now it laid claim to his tongue. Pushing the door open more fully, he held himself steady by the frame and called out, "Is...is she alright?"

The ladies all paused and turned their heads to look at him, but it was Miss Bingley who answered for the party. "Miss Eliza is fine, Mr Darcy. She's simply...feeling ill." The smirk on her face indicated that he should think differently, but his alcohol soaked brain could not fathom what.

"Do you require any assh...assistance?" he offered, attempting to act more sober than he felt. By the look on Miss Lucas' face, it wasn't working.

Jane Bennet, always as guileless as Bingley, smiled at him and expressed gratitude for his offer of help. "Thank you, sir, but I believe we can handle this matter. Please return to the ball."

Darcy shifted his gaze to Elizabeth and found her staring at him as if she had never seen him before. Her green eyes, so bright and verdant in the sunlight and glowing in the basking warmth of a fire, were dark and fathomless in the dim hallway. What would he see if he could plumb their depths?

"Thank you," Elizabeth said in a slurred whisper.

He watched the ladies as they led Elizabeth up the stairs where they then disappeared over the landing. He could still hear them speaking in soft, mellow tones as they moved deeper into the house until he heard the snap of a closing door.

Still clinging to the doorway, Darcy felt a swell of nausea rising up from his stomach. Elizabeth was ill? Hale, hardy Elizabeth who easily conquered three miles of dirt to tend to her ailing sister? She had been perfectly fine, if irritated, when he had left her earlier! What could have struck her down so acutely in the three hours since he had been in her beloved presence?

Darcy withdrew back into the library and weaved his way back to his place by the fire. His normal habit was to pace, of course, but he felt much too dizzy to contemplate so much motion, so he sank down into the plush leather of his chair and covered his face with his hands, elbows propped against his knees. He was not sure if he was going to be sick all over the rug or start sobbing.

Would Elizabeth be well again? His mother had been struck down by a sudden bout of influenza while Georgiana had still been in the nursery and wasted away before he could be called back from Eton to attend her. Was his Elizabeth upstairs suffering? Would she be gone by morning?

The irrational panic of vulnerability mixed with strong drink was beginning to overtake him. He was convinced that his indecision – no, his cold rejection of her – had brought this malady about. He had killed his precious Elizabeth! Because he would not marry her. Because he had gotten her hopes up. Because...because...

Oh, God, he had to tell her how much he loved her before she was gone forever. He would go to her.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Drunk people are not always wise, I guess. If it sounds like Darcy is rambling nonsense, please remember that he's getting drunk.

THANK YOU for everyone who has read and/or reviewed so far. I very much appreciate your support whether it come in the form of a fave, alert or review and I hope that those of you who have enjoyed this story thus far will continue to do so. I am making an effort to respond to all non-guest comments, but please be forgiving if there is some delay or I neglect to do so for yours and know that I value everyone's thoughts even if I lapse in my efforts to reply. Sincerely, thank you for making time to read my stories; I work hard on them and hope that it shows.

Btw, this is the last "short" chapter; all the rest will be satisfyingly long.

Super random thing here, but I've noticed recently that there's a lot of overlap between fans of Darcy/Elizabeth and Spock/Uhura in the _Star Trek: 2009_ fandom. When you think about it, the similarities – aloof man, witty woman, miscellaneous societal expectations against their relationship, etc – are pretty obvious, so I'm guessing that's why. In any event, if you have interest in the _Star Trek: 2009_ movieverse and are looking for something interesting to read, I've found three good ones with a _Pride and Prejudice_ theme, "Pride and Logic" by DawnCandace, "Vulcan Pride" by Sketchy88 and "Miscommunication" by SalR. All three can be found in my favorites if you don't want to go searching for them.

**Next Update:** November 1, 2019  
**Expected Completion Date:** February 21, 2020

– _Mrs Mary Smythe_


	3. Chapter Three: Exposure

**Title: **Under the Influence  
**Rating:** M – for sexual situations just this side of explicit.  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting: **Regency

**Summary:** A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"To Elizabeth it appeared that had her family made an agreement to expose themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would have been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit or finer success..."

– _Pride & Prejudice_, Volume I, Chapter 18

* * *

_**Chapter 3:**__ Exposure_

Elizabeth

_Tuesday November 26, 1811_

Elizabeth steadied her wine glass as she set it down to prevent it from turning over as was clearly its intention. The deep red liquid within the crystal cup sloshed up against the sides like a dark tide, a few drops breaking over the sides as waves tended to do. These drops landed on the pristine white table cloth and Elizabeth cringed at the stain her clumsiness had caused. She hoped Miss Bingley employed maids who were talented in getting out the mistakes of slovenly guests. She glanced down at the table to Mr Hurst whose own drink was spilling out around the corners of his mouth as he imbibed deeply and she rather suspected that her own mishap would remain unnoticed.

Elizabeth's dancing partner immediately before dinner had been Mr Bingley, who sat to her left speaking exclusively to Jane, placed on his other side. She did not begrudge them the chance to flirt with one another, trading shy smiles and endearing blushes, but Elizabeth would have preferred to not be alone with her thoughts any longer tonight. She had been berating herself for hours now about how foolish she had been to put stock into Mr Wickham's unfounded assertions about Mr Darcy and she craved a distraction.

Her family, as was often the case, was doing their level best to provide such with disreputable behavior. Elizabeth looked up at her mother, her vision swimming a little out of focus at the sharp movement of her head, and observed as Mrs Bennet expounded long and loud over Jane's supposed conquest of Mr Bingley.

"Five _thousand_ a year! Can you believe it? I knew she was not so beautiful for nothing!" Mrs Bennet crowed, the last of her sentence ending in a triumphant shriek. Lady Lucas, the intended recipient of all this bragging, was focusing on her plate of cold meats and various side dishes as the Bennet matriarch carried on in this fashion, clearly disinterested in a topic that could mean very little to her. Mrs Bennet neither noticed nor cared about her long time friend's inattention and carried on to the entire room as if the guests were an audience and she a diva performing an aria. "And Lizzy will soon be married to Mr Collins, which is good enough for _her_. Has Charlotte any suitors?"

Mr Collins, seated on Elizabeth's right, carried on in much the same way to Mr Purvis and in much the same theme. He pronounced himself "utterly charmed" by all his "dear cousins," and Elizabeth herself in particular. He did not say that he was engaged to her, but he might as well have for he said everything but. She rather hoped that her neighbors would not take Mr Collins too seriously because otherwise it would come as a shock to them when she rejected his suit, as she intended to do. Just the thought of chaining herself for eternity to Mr Collins was enough to make her feel ill (even if she did not already).

Mary, in spite of the numerous glances of irritation darted her way by various guests around the table, plunked away at the pianoforte at the end of the room, playing some grand concerto that was beyond her current ability. Elizabeth felt that Mary had some genuine talent at the instrument, but that her most pedantic sister overestimated her present skill level. She would likely be able to do justice to such a weighty piece one day, but until then she should keep it at home and only display those pieces in which she had attained perfection. And she should never, under any circumstances, accompany her music with singing; her playing was worthy of practice, but her voice was weak and warbling. To Elizabeth's sensitive head, it was nothing short of tortuous at the present moment.

Her father, as always, was taking the opportunity to laugh at poor Mary's performance and ostensibly hiding his mirth by pressing his fist against his widening lips. No one looking upon him, however, could doubt that he was having a joke at his middle child's expense. Oh, Papa...

Elizabeth tried _not_ to look at Kitty and Lydia who were encouraging officers to chase them around the room, a captured saber in their possession. Their behavior was atrocious, of course, but it was their dizzying circuits around the table that had their elder sister averting her eyes from them. Watching their antics made Elizabeth feel as if she were spinning in her seat and she was becoming nauseated by their relentless motion.

She placed her face between her hands, the coolness of her palms soothing to her overheated face, and braced her elbows on the table to keep her head aloft. The darkness provided by her closed eyelids was not enough to assuage the pounding between her ears, but at least the sharpness of the candlelight no longer stabbed at her.

Elizabeth heard more than witnessed the shift in the room when dinner was called to an end and all the guests rose to exit toward the ballroom for more dancing. In the far background, she could even hear the musicians warming up for the first after meal set. Elizabeth groaned a little and remained where she was.

"Lizzy?" Jane's voice, low and concerned, called to her. She felt the gentle touch of a hand upon her shoulder. "Are you well?"

'_Time to rally_,' Elizabeth decided as she lowered her hands from her cheeks and opened her eyes. She turned her face up toward her elder sister and forced a smile onto it. "Yes, quite. I am only a little tired, I think."

Mr Collins, ever eager to be helpful to his "dear cousin Elizabeth," hovered at her other shoulder like a loquacious bat. "I am most happy to escort you back into the ballroom, Cousin. Indeed, my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, is very attentive to all the little niceties of our society and insists that a gentleman be at the ready to assist ladies at every moment. I flatter myself that I may commend myself on always doing so, especially in regards to my fair cousins who may need to rely upon charity in the future, and – "

"Yes, thank you, Mr Collins," Elizabeth broke in, unable to take another word of her ladyship's gracious condescension toward him and her enlightened thoughts on basic manners. She was now stuck with him for the moment, but she hoped to persuade him to dance with someone else and leave her in peace for the duration of a set. Perhaps Charlotte would be so kind as to tolerate him for another, or one of her sisters could take their turn on the floor with him. He had, as she recalled, threatened to dance with them all.

Elizabeth scooted her chair backwards and raised herself off the seat, only to be overcome by a wave of sudden dizziness and stumble. She grasped at the edge of the table to right her balance and leaned over it, waiting for the sensation buzzing around in her head to dissipate.

"Lizzy!" Jane exclaimed, both of her hands now on Elizabeth's shoulders as if to steady her. "You are not well at all! You should sit back down and rest."

"Lady Catherine says – "

"Why not take her upstairs? There are many available bedrooms and she could lie down," Mr Bingley suggested, speaking on the subject for the first time.

"No, no, that will not be necessary," Elizabeth insisted, straightening her back so that she might stand erect. "It was merely a moment of dizziness, nothing more. I am fine."

Well, she had thought she was fine until the world slipped sideways again and she overbalanced backwards. Luckily Charlotte, who had apparently come over to assist, was on hand to help Jane in keeping Elizabeth upright.

"I believe Jane is right, Lizzy," Charlotte said, injecting more firmness into her tone than Jane was capable. "Let us escort you upstairs where you can be properly tended to. You can certainly dance no more this evening."

Mr Bingley clapped his hands, the sound reverberating around her skull like thunder rattling the walls. "I shall call a maid to make up a room immediately. Please, wait here."

Sighing, Elizabeth allowed herself to be lowered back into her chair and waited for Mr Bingley's hospitality to take effect.

o0o

"So, I have heard that Miss Eliza is feeling unwell."

Miss Bingley's voice was grating and unfeelingly loud, but it was still better than Mr Collins' constant chatter, which had been unceasing since Mr Bingley had darted off on his errand. Jane sat to her left, Charlotte her right and the clergyman lingered at her back offering numerous suggestions that Lady Catherine apparently touted for her own sickly daughter. Elizabeth doubted that laudanum would be helpful in this particular case, but Mr Collins would push the remedy at her all the same.

"Yes," Jane answered for her. "She was suddenly struck ill at the end of dinner. She says she feels dizzy and rather nauseous. Is that not so, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth muttered something that sounded close enough to agreement to her.

Miss Bingley roved her eyes over Elizabeth's seated form and smirked at her. "I see," was all she said in response.

Charlotte broke in at this point, Mr Collins continuing to buzz in the background though he was ignored by all. "Mr Bingley suggested that a bedroom might be made available for her to lie down in."

"Indeed," replied Miss Bingley, "it has just now been readied and we may proceed upstairs. Please, follow me."

Elizabeth allowed her sister and Charlotte to help her to her feet and clutched at their hands as the faintness overcame her again. After a moment of steadying herself, she felt competent enough to take a step.

They made their way to the door which would lead them away from the ballroom and into the foyer, Miss Bingley in the lead and the other three lagging behind in deference to Elizabeth's unsteady feet. It was a slow progression, but they successfully breached the corridor without further incident.

Until Mr Collins stepped on the train of Elizabeth's ballgown and sent her stumbling forward. "Oh, my dear cousin, I am so sorry! Please, allow me to help you up the stairs myself. Lady Catherine says it is my Christian duty to see to the sick and humbled – "

"I believe you should return to the ballroom, Mr Collins," Charlotte interrupted firmly as she helped Elizabeth back to her feet. "A lady's bedchamber is no place for an unmarried gentleman and her family will be wanting a report of Eliza's whereabouts. We three shall see to her comfort."

Mr Collins, apparently unable to process the rejection of his services, tried another time to make himself Elizabeth's hero. "But, Miss Lucas, surely – "

"I am positive that Lady Catherine would approve, sir," Charlotte persisted. "Indeed, I am certain her ladyship would be greatly pleased by your attention to decorum and ability to condole with her family at this time. Please, allow us to take charge from here."

When put like that, Mr Collins apparently understood. Elizabeth fought not to giggle outright at the smug look on his face, though her inhibitions were greatly lowered by her current condition and a squeak escaped her lips. "Right you are, Miss Lucas. Your good sense does you credit."

"Thank you, Mr Collins," Charlotte replied quickly with the obvious intention of cutting off any further flattery. Elizabeth did giggle at that, which earned a glare of reprimand from her friend.

With Mr Collins now out of the way, Elizabeth's three remaining escorts proceeded on their way to the staircase where they would mount it and ensconce her in a bedroom for the remainder of the evening. The journey should have been completed in no time at all, but Elizabeth found herself hampered by feet that felt like lead and continually tried to tangle up with themselves, leading to an unsteady gait. She felt even more ungraceful than she had after tripping over a tree root and cutting open her chin six years ago.

They reached the base of the stairs and Elizabeth raised one of her feet to plant upon the first step. She put her foot down too soon, however, and stumbled forward. She was caught by her retinue and righted again. "Are you well enough to take the stairs, Lizzy?" Jane asked.

"Yes, I...I am well enough," Elizabeth replied, not wishing to call forth any more help to carry her up. She was making enough of a scene as it was without being toted around like a bag of potatoes.

"Just hold on tightly to us and we shall see you safely to bed," reassured sensible Charlotte. Elizabeth could feel her friend's hands tighten upon her upper arms for greater support.

"Is...is she alright?" a new, deeper voice called out, rumbling around the foyer like the clanging of a large church bell.

Elizabeth turned her face toward the source and found Mr Darcy standing framed in a doorway, staring at her in that way of his. He was little more than a silhouette, back lit as he was by the fire set within the room – the library, she thought – dark and made of shadows. His eyes, however, glistened at her in the flickering firelight. How could he be so handsome, even in the dark?

"Miss Eliza is fine, Mr Darcy. She is simply...feeling ill," replied Miss Bingley, insinuating something that Elizabeth felt she should understand. Hmph.

"Do you require any assh...," Mr Darcy paused and tried again, "assistance?"

"Thank you, sir, but I believe we can handle this matter. Please return to the ball," Jane urged with as much of a curtsy as she could manage under the circumstances. It was really more of a nod.

Mr Darcy continued to stare, his fathomless eyes seemingly attached to her by an invisible force. She did not know what was hidden deep within, but she was curious.

As Charlotte and Jane pivoted her back toward the stairs, Elizabeth kept her gaze trained on Mr Darcy. "Thank you," she whispered, feeling as if she must say something to him.

He did not make any further reply and she was swept away from him.

o0o

Upstairs, Miss Bingley, Jane and Charlotte settled Elizabeth into a bedchamber. Well, to be more precise, _Jane and Charlotte_ settled her while Miss Bingley watched them struggle to get Elizabeth's ballgown over her head. She "did not wish to get in the way," or so their hostess claimed.

They then set her down in front of the mirror and demolished the intricate hairstyle she had hoped would impress Mr Wickham earlier this very evening. Hmph, so much for _that_ fantasy. Even had he bothered to show his face at the ball, Elizabeth was now too disgusted with him to care for his opinion on anything, much less her beauty. She had no patience for dishonest cads.

Stupid, lying Mr Wickham. And stupid Mr Darcy, too. Men were all so much trouble that Elizabeth was not sure she should ever marry one at all! Perhaps becoming the spinster aunt was a viable idea, in spite of all her mother's lamentations to the contrary. She had mostly been jesting when she had suggested it to Jane before, but it was quickly becoming the more palatable option.

"It is no trouble at all, dearest Jane," Miss Bingley said in that simpering way of hers. "It is clear that Miss Eliza has...overexerted herself tonight and I am happy to be of service by loaning her use of this room. And all your family is welcome to stay the night, as well." The last was said with a heavy measure of barely veiled irritation that Elizabeth assumed Jane would not hear.

Elizabeth could not help herself and snorted at Miss Bingley's expense, her grudging hospitality both insulting and darkly amusing to her befuddled mind. Charlotte nudged her discreetly as she unrolled one of Elizabeth's curls and tried for a stern expression, reflected back to them in the mirror, though it was obvious that her friend was fighting the urge to laugh, as well. It was understood that both ladies recalled _Mr_ Bingley being the one to offer up hospitality, not his sister, and likely the additional invitations to her parents and sisters had also been his doing. Miss Bingley would sooner throw them out into the frosty night than host a troupe of Bennets til morning.

"Thank you, Miss Bingley," replied Jane.

Well, one positive thing – if she could bring her to consider it in such a way – was that Elizabeth would almost certainly be in her mother's good graces in the morning. She could practically hear Mrs Bennet praising her as a "clever, clever girl" for devising a way to keep Jane at Netherfield overnight. As if she had planned to become ill! Well, she would bear the acclaim as best she could.

The chamber itself was indistinguishable from the one she had used whilst staying at Netherfield to care for Jane during her illness, right down to the wine colored bed hangings and gold tassels clinging to nearly everything. Elizabeth was not sure if it was the same room or if Miss Bingley's audacious taste was simply repeated everywhere within the house. Still, it was warmed by a cheerful fire, the bedclothes would be soft and comfortable and it was altogether a good place to rest her woozy head.

Once she was undressed down to her chemise and her hair disassembled, her sister and friend helped Elizabeth maintain her balance long enough to fall into the four poster bed and then tucked her in like a child. She laid her head upon the pillow in the center and reveled in the plush softness that seemed to swallow her up. Her dark, coffee-colored ringlets spread across the linen like the contents of a spilled carafe and dripped down the sides of her pillow.

Elizabeth sighed in relief.

"There now," Jane cooed, pulling the blankets up to Elizabeth's chin. Her eyelids were beginning to droop against her efforts to keep them open. "Sleep well, Lizzy. I shall check on you in the morning."

"Mmm...," Elizabeth replied, only half aware of the others in the room with her. She could hear the soft swishing of satin, the quiet murmur of indistinguishable voices and the firm click of a closing door. Then she was pulled into the warm embrace of slumber.

o0o

Elizabeth woke sometime later from her doze and sat straight up in bed, the sheets falling from her shoulders and pooling around her hips. She was not immediately sure what had disturbed her sleep and so roved her gaze around the chamber, searching for the source. She blinked repeatedly to clear the fuzziness clouding her vision.

Someone had opened the door. Jane had said that she would check on Elizabeth later; was it she? Or perhaps Charlotte, peeking in on her before heading home? Could her mother have come to gloat with her over her supposed scheme to keep them at Netherfield? It would be just like her to wake her ill daughter just to pay her an unwanted compliment.

But it was none of them. There, framed in the doorway, was Mr Darcy.

Still rather lightheaded, Elizabeth flopped back against the headboard behind her, propped upright by her pillows, as she stared at the man invading her private chambers. What could _he_ be doing there?

"Oh good, here you are," Mr Darcy announced, trudging heavily into the room. She blearily noted that his dancing slippers were absent and he was in his stocking feet. "I have checked all the other rooms on this hall. Why were you not in mine?"

Even at her best, Elizabeth would not have known how to respond to that particular query, and so she did not bother to attempt to do so in that moment. Why should _she_ ever be in _his_ room? "I beg your...what?"

Mr Darcy closed the door behind him and came further into the chamber. He then stopped, apparently recalling something, and doubled back to lock it behind him. "Cannot be too careful..."

How curious. Why should Mr Darcy lock himself in a bedchamber with her? Elizabeth distantly realized that she should object to his presumption, but then scoffed silently at the idea. Mr Darcy would never take advantage of her; she was only _tolerable_, after all.

"What are you doing here?" Elizabeth managed to ask as Mr Darcy began wobbling closer.

"I came to...," his attention seemed to wander for a moment and he stared at her. He blinked, dispelling his trance, and continued, "to see if you are well. Are you?"

Elizabeth shrugged and his eyes dropped away from her face to linger somewhere lower. "Not especially, but...," her thoughts were now the ones to fade into nothing. "Why are you here?" she asked again.

"Because I love you," Mr Darcy replied, as if that should be obvious.

Were she feeling more herself, Elizabeth likely would have been surprised, or even offended, by his proclamation of affection. Instead, she snorted with laughter, as she had been doing often since falling ill. "No, you do not."

"Yes, I do," Mr Darcy insisted, taking another few unbalanced steps in her direction.

"Nonsense!" countered the openly giggling Elizabeth. What a notion! "I am not 'tolerable enough to tempt' you! You cannot be in love with me."

Mr Darcy stopped in the middle of the floor, his eyebrows drawn downward into a scowl. He demanded, "Who told you that?"

"_You_ did."

"I...?" He paused, diverting his eyes to the side for a moment as he clearly pondered what she had said. He nodded and then brought his gaze back to hers. So gray. "Oh, yes, now I remember. At the assembly."

"So you see? It is impossible!" declared Elizabeth with triumph. She folded her arms across her ribcage and thrust her chest forward, filled with pride for besting the proud Mr Darcy.

"But I – " Darcy began to move again, taking sluggish steps toward the bed she was lounging upon, and one of his feet became tangled up in the carpet. He fell to the floor with an aggravated groan, defeated.

Elizabeth threw back the covers and jumped down to his rescue, only barely managing to avoid his undignified fate as the sheets attempted to foil her. They entrapped her legs, twisting round her knees as she struggled to free herself from the bedding, but she finally managed to kick them off and right herself with the nearest bedpost.

Elizabeth slumped down onto the floor and heaved Mr Darcy up into a kneeling position – goodness, but he was _heavy_ – only for her strength to fail at the last moment. As he flopped back onto his hindquarters, he darted out an arm to steady himself and captured Elizabeth about the waist. She squeaked in surprise as she tumbled upon his chest, falling forward while he descended as if caught in his gravitational pull. When they finally came to rest, Elizabeth was laying upon Mr Darcy, her nose touching his and her legs tangled in his own.

"Elizabeth..." he whispered, the hand at her waist rising to brush a ringlet away from her temple.

His gray eyes, which had always reminded Elizabeth of a tempest gathering on the horizon, seemed a little darker in the dim firelight, though they shined with every flicker of the flames. They stared into her own with the same unwavering intensity that she had grown to expect from him, the orange and yellow light from the hearth creating the illusion of lightning flashes in those storm clouds.

So enraptured by the sparks, Elizabeth started a little when he spoke again. "I _do_ love you. I so ardently admire and love you that I want to marry you."

Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. Mr Darcy wanted to marry her? Were his senses as addled as hers?

"I know," he continued, his fingers stroking her cheek in a most intoxicating way, "that a union between us would be considered a reprehensible connection. A degradation. Your family is not only lacking in consequence, but also proper decorum."

'_Who does he think he is?'_ Elizabeth could feel her face growing warm, though her blush was hardly derivative of positive feelings for this...this...ungentlemanly man!

Elizabeth opened her mouth to insist that he vacate her room immediately, but Mr Darcy's wandering hand had found the back of her head and pulled her closer to press their mouths together. That electricity she had sensed within his eyes now prickled against her skin and raised goosebumps in places even she had been unaware of. This man was many things, but first and foremost he was a force of nature. One that was sweeping her up in his tempest against her sense, reason and better judgment.

Mr Darcy pulled back, his chest heaving beneath her palms, forehead pressed against hers. She could taste him still. "I beg you to relieve my suffering. Consent to be my wife."

Before Elizabeth could rally any words to reply to his entreaty, his lips were upon hers again and any thoughts of denial that might have put a stop to what was happening had evaporated into the storm of passion. His fingers tangled in her hair and guided her head to the side, opening her further to his exploration, and she could feel his tongue tickling the roof of her mouth.

'_Oh, my...'_

o0o

_Wednesday November 27, 1811_

Elizabeth drifted reluctantly into consciousness the next morning, unable to further ignore the sunlight stabbing her in the eyes. Even with her lids still closed, the cheerful morning assailed her with all the subtlety of an ax chopping wood. And that was exactly what it felt like someone was doing to her aching head.

"Nngh...," was all the verbal complaint she could muster against the onslaught. What had happened? She had attended the Netherfield ball and...

...and it hurt far too much to think. Elizabeth groaned again and nuzzled her face against her pillow. Her warm, hairy pillow that smelled of a man's cologne. Her pillow that was _breathing_.

Elizabeth froze in place. Someone was in bed with her. That someone was certainly not Jane who was smooth, soft and smelled of rosewater, the perfect scent for a perfect English rose such as she and a lovely complement to Elizabeth's preferred lavender. Together, they were a fragrant garden of femininity.

This current bed mate smelled more masculine, like leather, shaving soap and cologne. It was equal parts soothing and alarming; soothing because it eased the throbbing in her head, yet alarming because only a man could possibly be wearing such a scent.

Elizabeth opened her eyes cautiously, wary of the daylight invading the room and what she was about to discover.

'_Please, let it be Papa...'_

An initial glance told her that she had not crawled into bed with her dear Papa. The chest that rose and fell beneath her cheek was broader and, though she was hardly an expert on male bodies, seemed younger and boasted less fur than that which occasionally sprouted above her father's nightshirt. Elizabeth took a steadying breath and rolled her eyes upward to the man's face.

'_Mr Darcy!'_

After a moment of horrified disbelief, Elizabeth shrieked and thrust herself away from him. She scrambled into a sitting position and huddled against the headboard as far away from the nude male presence in her bed as possible. Mr Darcy startled from his own slumber and attempted to levy himself up as well, but failed to rise far before clutching at his head with both sets of clawed fingers and falling back onto the mattress with an agonized grunt. The blankets, which had heretofore hidden most of him from her maidenly eyes, now slipped low on his hips and clung to the most masculine part of him. Only a tenuously grasping sheet protected her sensibilities now.

"What are you doing in my bedchamber, sir?" Elizabeth demanded, feeling the heat from her face spreading down her chest. The tone of her own voice rasped against her ears, which intensified every ache in her body. Mr Darcy, seemingly feeling the same way, flinched.

He lowered his hands from his face and looked in her direction, blinking against the sharp glare of sunlight breaching the room via the window on the far wall. "Your bedchamber?" Mr Darcy asked, his voice graveled and deep, clearly as confused as she.

"Yes, _my_ bedchamber," Elizabeth confirmed, her ire flickering to life. "How did you sneak in here?"

Mr Darcy used an elbow against the mattress to raise himself into a sitting position, shaking his head as if dispelling sleep from his mind. He slumped against the headboard alongside her and rested the back of his skull against it as he replied, "I do not appreciate what you are insinuating, madam. I do not 'sneak' anywhere."

"Well, I certainly did not invite a man into my bed! And where are your clothes?" She indicated his body which was bare as the day he had been born. Only the sheet caught upon..._him_ preserved a small shred of his modesty.

Mr Darcy's head pivoted in her direction and his eyes, overcast this morning, flicked down then back up again. "Where are yours?"

Elizabeth followed the path of his gaze and discovered herself to be as exposed as he! Her shift was entirely absent, leaving her nipples to pebble in the chilly room. She scrambled to cover herself with the blankets that had crumpled around her hips, but a tug in the wrong direction dislodged them from Mr Darcy and revealed – _dear __God_!

Elizabeth tamped down her shriek at only the last moment by covering her face with both of her hands and turning away from Mr Darcy's nudity. She had seen...it all. _She had seen it all_!

There was a rustling of bedclothes and some grunting before she felt a blanket draped around her bare shoulders. She kept her eyes hidden, however, for fear of witnessing anything else she should not. "It is safe now, Eli – Miss Bennet."

Tentatively, Elizabeth lowered her hands and peered at her bed mate. Mr Darcy was still obviously unclothed, but his _parts_ were now obscured by strategically placed bedding. He was again slumped against the headboard much as she was, wallowing in agony.

Elizabeth clutched at the edges of her own covering and clasped it tightly about her as she asked, "What happened last night?"

Mr Darcy grumbled something unintelligible in response.

She looked around the chamber for the first time and realized that she was not at Longbourn. Some of her memory was beginning to rise to the surface of her consciousness and the missing pieces were coming together. "I took ill...at the ball..."

"Yes," agreed Darcy, his brow folded in concentration. Or perhaps misery. "We danced and...I went to the library."

"I took ill," Elizabeth repeated, willing the next memory to come to her. "And was brought upstairs for the night. Then you...," she paused and narrowed a glare in his direction, "you came to my door and let yourself in!"

His expression stiffened into the hauteur she remembered from their first meeting at the assembly. "I do not recall you asking me to leave!"

"_You locked the door!_"

Darcy blushed at the accusation, but did not deny it. Perhaps he had just remembered it. He cleared his throat before continuing, "And then I said..."

Elizabeth gasped. Every little bit of what came after Mr Darcy's repeated declarations of love came back to her in a flood of humiliation. The kissing. The fondling. The awkward, fumbling way he had...oh, dear Lord.

"What did we do?" she asked, covering her mouth lest she be sick all over the bed. It was still a very near thing.

Darcy, apparently, had no response.

Knock, knock. "Lizzy? Are you awake?"

"Jane!" Elizabeth exclaimed in a low hiss, her gaze darting to the very naked Mr Darcy. She could see the alarm that she felt reflected back at her in his expression.

They _could not_ be caught this way. Even by Jane.

The doorknob rattled. "Lizzy? Why is the door locked? Please, let me in."

Elizabeth, her nudity forgotten for the present moment, vaulted out of bed in a flurry of flying blankets and began fumbling around in the twisted piles of clothing that were mingled together upon the floor. Most of the articles seemed to belong to Mr Darcy – which made sense considering he had been far more properly dressed at the beginning of their interlude while she had been in nothing more than her chemise – but she knew that her covering must be there somewhere. "Where is it?"

Mr Darcy cleared his throat and brought her attention back to him. She turned in his direction, exasperated that he would interrupt her in the middle of her clothing hunt, but then noticed the shift dangling from his extended fingertips as he very carefully looked in the direction opposite from her. Had it been in the bed with them? She snatched it away and slipped it over her head without thanking him.

His gaze remained deliberately averted and Elizabeth suddenly remembered to be embarrassed by her nudity. She desperately wished for a robe or a day gown to recover her modesty, but her chemise at least covered more than before.

"Coming, Jane!" she called as she crossed the room and grasped the key. Before opening the door, however, she looked back to Mr Darcy and motioned with her tilted head to hide. He grimaced at her, but clearly agreed that there were no other options available to them other than subterfuge and wrapped their – _her_ – sheet around his waist and planted his feet on the floor. He bent down to gather together his scattered clothing and then made his way quickly to the attached dressing room.

Once he had closed himself inside, Elizabeth took a deep breath and opened the door. "Good morning."

Her dearest sister Jane stood on the other side, blessedly alone, with her brows and lips dipped low in concern. "Are you well, Lizzy? Why was the door locked?"

Though she hated deceiving her dearest sister and confidante, Elizabeth lied. "I honestly could not tell you, Jane. I was in such a state last night I hardly know what I did." At least it was partially the truth.

Jane reached out and stroked Elizabeth's face with her open palm in a motherly fashion that her future children would surely cherish. "You seem much better this morning. How do you feel?"

'_Like a fool.'_

"Better."

Jane gently pushed Elizabeth back into the room and bade her younger sister sit on the bed. Mr Darcy, bless his thinking, had taken every piece of his clothing into the dressing room with him. She could only hope that he was putting it to good use and would be properly covered upon reemergence.

"My, but you had a restless night," Jane commented upon witnessing the rumpled state of the bed. She gasped a little. "Is that blood?"

Elizabeth looked at where her sister had indicated, almost dead center of the mattress. Indeed, there, smeared upon the sheets, was the visible evidence that she was a maiden no more. Only the tiniest splotch of red, no more than a drop or two, and it was a wonder that Jane had seen it at all. Still, that small sample meant something so much bigger than itself.

Elizabeth could feel her lower lip begin to tremble at the thought; her memory of the previous night had been restored, but a small piece of herself had hoped that it had all been some horrible, feverish dream. But, no, she was ruined completely. Mr Darcy would likely never marry her, despite what he'd said in their passionate stupor, and she could very well be with child at this very moment. _His_ child.

Feeling the tears begin to nip at the corners of her eyes, Elizabeth shook her head to dispel them. She had no time to feel sorry for herself now. Jane would require an explanation and Elizabeth was inclined to be truthful.

"You poor dear!" cried Jane, sitting down next to Elizabeth and draping an arm around her shoulders in empathy. Elizabeth stiffened in panic as she tried to rapidly call forth the words she required to explain what had happened. How Mr Darcy had come to her room. Claimed he loved her. That kiss...how could anyone understand how that kiss had swept her up? "For your courses to come at such a time must be terrible. Though, I suppose, it does explain some of what ailed you last night. I must say that I am relieved it is nothing worse! And surely you are well enough to return home, if this is the source of your malady."

"P...Pardon?" Elizabeth stared at her sister, not quite comprehending what Jane was saying.

Jane carried on as if her sister had not spoken, cooing sympathetic words into her ear. "Yes, it all makes perfect sense now. The dizziness, the headache, the slight fever...all of that dancing must have been too much on top of all that. Poor, poor Lizzy!" she exclaimed, pulling Elizabeth fully into her arms for an embrace.

As they broke apart, Elizabeth forced a smile. Part of her was relieved that Jane had so innocently and conveniently thought of a way to explain away what had happened, yet another part was disappointed that the charade must continue. She had always confided in her elder sister, telling her everything, even things she would much rather tell no one at all, yet now she must guard her secret so as to protect Jane from having to keep this terrible thing from their parents. Elizabeth intended to tell them – well, her father, at least – if it became necessary, but truly she preferred to tell no one at all. Ever. Jane would never reveal her confidences, but Elizabeth did not want to put such a burden on her sweet, loyal sister.

"Come," said Jane after a few seconds of overwrought silence. "Let's get you dressed. You shall have to wear your ballgown, of course, as we have none of our other clothes here, but we shall leave after breakfast and amend your wardrobe when we arrive home."

That said, the eldest Bennet daughter rose from her seat upon the bed and proceeded toward the dressing room where Charlotte had hung Elizabeth's only proper garment the evening before. And where Mr Darcy, in an unknown state of covering, was hiding.

"No!" Elizabeth shouted, grasping her sister's arm before Jane could get so much as three paces away. Jane stared at her in confusion and a touch of concern. "That is...I shall dress myself. I am not so very poorly now that I have had a good night's rest and will have no trouble."

Jane kept her eyes fixed on Elizabeth's face as her consternation visibly grew, reflected in her expression. "But shall you not require assistance with your corset?"

"I, ah...find my stomach is a touch too unsettled this morning," Elizabeth fibbed. Then her stomach twisted a little and realized that her lie was actually the truth. How comforting. "I will wear the gown only."

"Lizzy..."

"Please, Jane?" Elizabeth pleaded, desperately casting about in her mind for an excuse. "I would like to...wash myself. You know how uncomfortable I am about my monthlies." And now that she considered it, she was rather sticky. _Down there_. What had Mr Darcy done to her?

Jane's face cleared of all suspicion. "I see. Very well, then, I will see you at breakfast." She kissed Elizabeth on the cheek and left.

Once the door had latched behind Jane, Elizabeth hurried to the dressing room to release Mr Darcy from his prison. He stood just inside, now as fully clothed as he had arrived, – though, in the sober light of day, she noted absently that he was missing a few pieces to his wardrobe such as his cravat and jacket – fidgeting uncomfortably. "She is gone," Elizabeth assured him, stepping aside so that he might come out.

He stepped into the room, fiddling with his watch chain, and seemingly at a loss for what to say next. He took a deep breath and began, "Miss Bennet..."

Oh, God. She simply could _not_ have this conversation now. If he wanted to find his way out of their "engagement," she would not stand in his way, but she was far too overwhelmed to discuss it at the present moment. Had her monthly visitor actually been the cause of her ailment, Elizabeth could not possibly have been more emotional. She held her hand up to him, palm first, and interjected, "Please, Mr Darcy, I beg that we discuss this later. I am quite...," she gulped down a lump in her throat and pressed on, "I wish to process what has happened."

Mr Darcy opened his mouth, then closed it again. Good.

He bowed – which, in retrospect, was a strange thing to do in the circumstances – and moved around her to the door. He opened it cautiously, peering out into the hallway for any sign of another person, before nodding to her. She took it as a signal that the corridor must have been empty because Mr Darcy then slipped out, closing the portal behind himself.

Finally alone, Elizabeth collapsed on the bed again and began to cry.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I think we can see where this is going (which is probably not something that I, as the author, should admit to), but it should be fun anyway.

And I know that most women don't really bleed the first time, but it seemed important to have a physical indicator of what happened. Besides, Jane came up with the perfect excuse.

Just as a reminder, as is posted in my author bio, my family and myself will be moving at the beginning of next month (yay!) to our new house and so I will be unusually busy with packing/unpacking for the foreseeable future. My posting schedule will be uninterrupted because I'm ahead of myself, but I won't be able to do extra things like respond to reviews. Please know that I am still reading and appreciating them, so don't be discouraged about leaving your comments. I will also still be responding to PMs if you absolutely require a response.

Told ya the chapters would start getting longer. Expect all the rest to be about the same volume, more or less. Speaking of chapters, I've (somewhat stupidly) gone and added three more to this story which will increase the total number to fourteen (including epilogue). I won't be altering the completion date, however, so expect some extra updates in February.

Please check out my latest JAFF work now available in my profile. Chapters posted on alternate Fridays between updates of this story.

_Dare to Refuse Such a Man_ (PG/K+) – It had never occurred to Fitzwilliam Darcy that, once he had chosen a bride, her father might dare to refuse his consent. However, a woman worthy of being pleased is also worth fighting for. DE, Regency, clean romance.

**Next Update: **November 15, 2019  
**Expected Completion Date:** February 21, 2020

– _Mrs Mary Smythe_


	4. Chapter Four: Departure

**Title: **Under the Influence  
**Rating:** M – for sexual situations just this side of explicit.  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting: **Regency  
**Thanks:** To everyone who has read, reviewed, favorite and/or followed this story. Additionally, I appreciate the well wishes in regards to my move in December. Once there, I'll even have my own office, which will hopefully enhance my ability to churn out JAFF :)

**Summary:** A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"The Longbourn party were the last of all company to depart..."

– _Pride & Prejudice_, Volume I, Chapter 18

* * *

_**Chapter 4:**__ Departure_

Darcy

_Wednesday November 27, 1811_

Darcy, now freshly bathed and clothed properly by his silent yet palpably suspicious valet, emerged from his room an hour or so after leaving Elizabeth's. He had no appetite between the lingering illness from over imbibing the night before and his churning guilt over what he had done, yet he felt he must descend to breakfast for the sake of politeness to his hosts.

Moreover, it would seem strange if he broke his usual habit and took a tray in his room; today, when concealment was paramount in order to preserve the reputations of both involved parties, it was imperative that both he and Elizabeth behave as normally as possible to alleviate any suspicion which might be levied at them. He did not think that they had been discovered, yet it would not take too many questions to unravel the whole debacle if anyone had happened to notice Darcy coming or going from Elizabeth's bedchamber. He had seen no one in the corridor the night before or the morning after their unplanned rendezvous, yet his normal powers of perception had been impaired significantly by both drink and his besotted heart; he could not swear to it that their...activities had remained completely unobserved.

Though his path was obvious – his proposal would stand and he would marry Elizabeth, of course – he did not want the entire household to know that the impetus for his proposal was that he had dishonored her before marriage. Not only would she suffer from the disdainful attitudes of her family and neighbors, but his own reputation as a gentleman was at stake. This particular morning he hardly felt like he deserved it, but Georgiana still needed to marry one day and he had to do everything necessary to make sure that his name remained reputable. Besides that, he would wed Elizabeth and set everything to rights, thereby absolving himself of most of his guilt. No one need ever know.

'_Except __for__ her father_,' it occurred to him with a flinch. That was one conversation he was not looking forward to, but it would be necessary in order to convince his future father-in-law that the nuptials must take place in short order. They might be able to wait for the banns to be read, thus eliminating the inevitable suspicion incurred by marrying hastily with a special license, but excessive delay could raise eyebrows if...well. It was best to be married soon.

Darcy had traveled this hallway in reverse the previous night, full of drunken good intentions to see to the welfare of his lady love. His alarm at Elizabeth's ailment had caused him to spiral in panic and, with his inhibitions lowered and his mind functioning at lesser capacity, he had decided to go to her room and confirm that she had not been in any danger. It had seemed like the only possible decision at the time, no matter how imbecilic it seemed in the sober light of morning. He found it wryly interesting how his intoxicated self had been aware that he should not be seen entering her chambers, yet had not considered it unwise to knock on every door along the corridor until he had found her. Fortunately (or perhaps _un_fortunately, considering what had happened next), everyone else had been occupied downstairs in the ballroom during his search. Once he had found the correct room, the subsequent events were, perhaps, inevitable. Inevitable and...incredible.

The private part of him that had stupidly fallen in love with a country miss below his station had found the interlude absolutely, completely and astoundingly _glorious_. Darcy would admit this to no one else, of course, but he had frequently imagined what Elizabeth must look like beneath her clothing these last weeks. He had wondered, for instance, if her waist was truly that slim, or her bosom so perky, without her undergarments to give that effect. As it turned out, her charms were everything as advertised, and more. If he doubted the alcohol- and lust-hazed memories from last night, she had reminded him this morning as she had stretched out on the bed beside him, bare and rosy in the glow cast by the warm sunrise.

Feeling himself respond to this imagery, Darcy pushed all such thoughts from his mind before he made himself unsuitable for company. He dredged up some memories of his crusty, wrinkled Aunt Catherine badgering him and his ardor cooled significantly.

The squeak of a hinge was the only preamble he had before Elizabeth thrust herself into his path, having just emerged from their room. _Her_ room. Her expression was startled with her eyes wide, brows raised and soft mouth gaping open.

"Ahem," Darcy began, straightening his features into some semblance of his usual hauteur. "Good morning, Miss Bennet."

She curtsied, eyes averted to the carpet. "Mr Darcy."

Elizabeth was wearing her ballgown from the previous evening, a rather stunning ivory dress trimmed in emerald embroidery that complemented her fine eyes very well, and so she was more exposed to his wandering gaze than her more demure daytime wear would usually allow. Evening clothing, after all, was meant to be alluring in the candlelight to draw in potential candidates for a husband and, as such, were cut low. He had seen more daring necklines in London, but knowing what was beneath Elizabeth's made it all the more irresistible to his attention. '_One night of passion with this woman and I can think of nothing else!_'

Darcy tore his eyes away from her decolletage as she rose, scolding himself into better behavior. He could not deny that he wished for a repeat performance of last evening, but he would force himself to wait for their wedding night; Elizabeth was still a lady and deserved to be treated as such. Besides, he could hardly pounce upon her in the hallway where anyone might discover them tangled together –

Forcing the vivid image of himself lifting Elizabeth off her slippered feet and having her against the wallpaper back into the depths of his mind where it belonged, Darcy shifted his feet and forced himself to look at her face – and_ only_ her face. His voice sounded a little strangled to him when he said, "We must speak." He need not say about what.

Elizabeth grimaced and began fiddling with the end of a gold ribbon which was dangling from just beneath her bust line and trailing down the length of her ivory skirt. She weaved it in and out of her fingers in absentminded fashion as she replied, "I know, but not here. We should meet away from Netherfield Park."

"Where?" Darcy was hardly encouraged by her downcast attitude, but supposed it must be natural after waking up with a man not yet her husband. They would sort it all out in due time and she would, hopefully, come to see their night together as nothing to be ashamed of in the grand scheme of their future together. Perhaps if she could accept this, his own squirming guilt might be somewhat quelled.

"Do you know where Oakham Mount is?"

Darcy shook his head in the negative. "No."

Elizabeth released the ribbon to indicate a direction out the window closest to them, which happened to face the direction of her own home. "It is between this estate and my father's, the largest hill in the area. It should be simple enough to find."

It sounded familiar, now that she described it. He had seen such a landmark when Bingley had first come to inspect Netherfield in late August. "Very well. When?"

Elizabeth peeked down the hall, up and down in both directions, as if confirming that there were no eavesdroppers on their conversation. Apparently satisfied with their solitude, she answered, "Tomorrow morning, at seven."

"Agreed."

"Why, _there_ you are, Mr Darcy!" interrupted a shrill voice affecting a cultured accent. He raised his gaze to peer over Elizabeth's shoulder just as she turned toward the source herself; it was Miss Bingley and she was overtaking the top landing on the staircase. Darcy held back the expression he wished to display, one of both aggravation and mild disgust, and maintained a perfectly placid facade.

"Good morning, Miss Bingley," he greeted by rote habit.

She smiled and preened as if he had complimented her somehow. "And to you, sir," she replied, stepping close to him and taking possession of the arm nearest in proximity to herself. He could feel her fingernails digging into him, though his coat blunted their sharpness. "I trust you slept well? I noticed you had retired from the ball early last night, no doubt irked by such savage company." She fluttered her eyelashes at him and then turned toward Elizabeth, nose slightly raised in the air, and offered, "Good morning, Miss Eliza."

Elizabeth bit her lip, but she was not entirely successful in disguising her dryly amused smile. She dipped another curtsy. "Miss Bingley."

Their hostess returned her attention back to Darcy as if Elizabeth had dissolved into mist. How she thought Darcy would tolerate such abominable rudeness in a future wife, a position Miss Bingley clearly yearned for with palpable desperation, he could not fathom. She would learn her error soon enough. "Shall you escort me down to breakfast, Mr Darcy? I am simply _famished_ this morning! Hosting a ball is a great deal of effort, even in a backwater place such as this."

Darcy grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Miss Bingley's uncharitable assessment of the denizens of Meryton and its environs. Though she was not entirely wrong, it was certainly the height of bad manners to say so in front of one of the locals. Especially one who not only defied the norm in her neighborhood, but also had the wit to understand any insult leveled at herself and those of her community. Not that Miss Bingley was being especially subtle.

Caught in his musings, Darcy only dimly noted Elizabeth's skirts whisper against his ankles as she stepped around him. He started at the tickling sensation and affixed his attention on her anew as she approached the staircase and placed her hand delicately on the banister. She began her descent to the lower floor without saying a word, but the impish glance she shot him over her shoulder told him volumes.

Left to the mercy of Miss Bingley, Darcy felt a stab of irritation at his bride-to-be. To consign him to the clutches of such a harpy was not appreciated and he would be sure to mention it to her later, though he suspected that she knew very well what she had done to him. He felt his lips attempting to tug themselves into a smirk at the thought of how he might punish her for such impertinence. '_Minx._'

"Shall we?" Miss Bingley asked, reminding Darcy of her bothersome presence. She gripped tighter at his arm and pressed against him, though he felt none of the plush softness that Elizabeth offered. As if he needed another reason to choose one lady over the other.

"Indeed," he replied and led the wrong partner downstairs.

o0o

Over breakfast, which was unusually noisy with the Bennets and five other families in attendance, several things were revealed to Darcy.

The first, his headache was hardly resolved. The comparative quiet of his bedchamber and the ministrations of his valet had given him the incorrect impression that the pounding between his ears had ceased, yet the noise of these additional...people had caused his hangover to flare up again. How did Hurst do it every morning? Probably by sleeping until afternoon, as he was currently doing.

Secondly, the presence of these additional guests at the breakfast table, according to the snide whispers of Miss Bingley, could be attributed to that same man's malfeasance. Apparently Mr Hurst, feeling that the punch at the ball had been lacking, had taken it upon himself to remedy the recipe with some especially potent spirits. Several of the more delicate ladies in attendance, including the fine-eyed Miss Elizabeth Bennet, had overindulged by mistake and been forced to take rooms upstairs to recover. Others still had been taken home to recover in their own beds. All of this had occurred during the second half of the ball after dinner when Darcy and Elizabeth had already been ensconced together in her bedchamber, thus they had not been aware of it at the time. Undoubtedly, the chaos caused by various sick ladies and their families being assigned quarters had aided them in masking any noises that might have otherwise given them away. He further supposed he should be thankful that Netherfield boasted enough guest chambers that no one had thought it necessary to double up with Elizabeth amidst the mayhem.

"...and so now we are playing host to this rabble! Added to this, as if the inconvenience were not enough, my sister is distraught by her husband's callous disregard for her punch recipe. It is currently all the rage at the best houses in London and he ruins it with whiskey!" Miss Bingley was carrying on to his left as if he were paying attention to her every word. Honestly, he heard only one in three, but it was enough to get the gist of the story. "When I set up _my _house, I shall make sure that the punch at every soiree is of the highest possible caliber. And I am certain that _my husband_," here she paused to flutter her eyelashes meaningfully at him, "will appreciate it and not cause a scandalous annoyance such as this."

"Mmm," was all Darcy said in response as he raised his toast up to his mouth. He took a bite to avoid saying more.

Honestly, considering the result of Hurst's ill judged scheme to "improve" the punch, Darcy should be at least as angry with him as his wife and sister-in-law seemed to be. However, he conversely felt more like he owed the drunkard a debt of gratitude; had he found his way to Elizabeth's room whilst she had been more sober than he, she likely would have cast him out into the hallway. Darcy would have been both humiliated and heartbroken, though in all probability would have hidden it behind a grim countenance and fled to London rather than face an offended Elizabeth. Instead, they were now bound together by their actions and the honorable thing would be to do exactly what he had long wished to do anyway! It was rather comforting to have the decision taken out of his hands.

Still, he would warn his sister to avoid any punch at a party that included Hurst in the future. Elizabeth, he was sure, had already learned this lesson.

Miss Bingley went on about her plans for her future house and her future husband, making sure to sprinkle in as many compliments to herself as possible, while Darcy allowed his mind to wander to other concerns.

His third item of note, and one that rather disturbed him, was that Elizabeth was avoiding him. He rather hoped that this was her way of being circumspect about their rendezvous, but no matter how many times he glanced in her direction he never caught her looking back. Was she not aching for his company as he was for hers? Was she not irritated to be surrounded by people when he would prefer to be with just her? Her behavior was somewhat subdued, in spite of her teasing abandonment above stairs; was she tired? He had kept her awake for much of the night, he reminded himself with smug satisfaction. Perhaps she suffered from lack of sleep.

Darcy's eyes darted to her place setting again, unnoticed by his chattering dining companion. Elizabeth was listening to the conversation going on around her with a dim smile on her face, but made few attempts to join in her usual fashion. He began to fret; was she still ill from the effects of the alcohol?

At that moment, a flash of bright green caught his attention and he relaxed. Elizabeth had looked at him! She offered him a nod and a wavering smile and then returned her attention to her breakfast. He felt oddly better.

o0o

_Thursday November 28, 1811_

The next morning, Darcy mounted his horse an hour earlier than necessary, the frosty autumn air burning in his lungs. He could feel shards of cold pricking at his skin and pulled his scarf up higher to better guard his face.

As he rode toward his destination in the weak light of sunrise, it occurred to Darcy that he should already be in London, probably writing letters of business in his study by a blazing fire and doing his best to forget about Elizabeth Bennet. Instead, it was only Bingley on his way to the metropolis and Darcy lagging behind at his friend's country estate in order to finalize an engagement to the aforementioned beguiling country miss. Bingley's sisters had practically begged Darcy to follow and dissuade him from returning, fearful of their brother's growing attachment to his beloved's elder sister, but he had an appointment with Elizabeth that he would miss for nothing in the world. Let Bingley find his own happiness; Darcy was off to confirm his.

Oddly, he still had few regrets about what had happened. He had slept on it for another night, tossing and turning in a bed that now felt too large for just him, and determined that there was no cause to repine over obtaining Elizabeth as the companion of his future life. She had little fortune, if any, and her connections were lacking, but she was interesting, intelligent, beautiful; all prerequisites for his bride. Elizabeth was unknown in London and some of his acquaintance might question his choice, but he honestly preferred country life where she would be more acceptable to their neighbors and tenants. Why should he care overmuch for the opinions of the _ton_? A genteel lady like Elizabeth would hardly hurt Georgiana's chances on the marriage mart in a few years, what with his sister's substantial dowry and various connections to the peerage, so he rationalized that her inferiority would mean little in the end.

Her vulgar family, however, was another matter entirely. Darcy was as beholden to Elizabeth now as if he had already married her, but he could not claim to be excited by the prospect of a nearer connection to such a woman as Mrs Bennet and her younger three daughters. The middle one, Mary, might be salvageable with a little effort, but the two youngest were abominably crude, wild and greatly in need of a firm hand to guide them. It would not be polite to suggest such to Mr Bennet today, when Darcy was scheduled to admit to one of his own moral failings, but he hoped that their parents might be willing to eventually accept his patronage for sending them to school to improve their minds and manners. Perhaps Elizabeth would know the best way to broach the subject; he would be sure to ask her once they were married.

Well, no matter. So long as the Bennets did not stir from Hertfordshire and invade their London townhouse during the Season, he could essentially pretend as if his more shameful in-laws did not exist. He would be lying if he did not admit to hoping that they might consider Derbyshire too great a distance for visiting, as well, though he supposed that was too much to expect. Darcy would content himself with simply hiding them from the _haute ton_.

Darcy arrived at their designated meeting spot a full half hour before Elizabeth was scheduled to arrive and so continued his pondering in her absence. With his horse, Blackthorne, grazing sedately at the base of the hill, he ascended the slope toward the peak, careful not to slip on the frost-crusted grass on his way. The sun was glimmering along the crest of the smooth ridge, greeting him like an old friend with cheery warmth as he reached the apex.

At the top there was a bench encircling the trunk of the oak tree that had likely inspired the name of the mount, but he chose to pace around it rather than sitting. This had the double effect of keeping him warm and mitigating his anxiety at the prospect of seeing Elizabeth again. They had not parted on the best of terms yesterday, both afflicted by awkward silence toward the other, but surely that was due to the remnants of alcohol keeping her spirits depressed and the natural guilt both experienced which must arise from their unsanctioned amorous encounter. Their rendezvous today would be better – or, at least less emotionally wrought. He looked forward to resuming their playful banter, flirting with one another as they debated female achievements, impulsivity versus responsible behavior or the merits of Town and country living. Darcy missed that impish sparkle in her eye, seen only once and very briefly since waking up next to one another.

As had often happened since the morning after the ball, Darcy's mind grasped at yet another opportunity to reminisce about the events that had led to this happy conclusion. His memory of their drunken interlude was becoming more clear over time and this had assisted in placating any worries he might have had over the connection. Neither of them had performed at the pinnacle of their potential, yet he could not remember being so frenzied with any other lady before. By the time he had entered her, fumbling and awkward as it had been, he had been so overstimulated that he had nearly finished before getting himself properly seated. After that, it had been over in only a few strokes. His next attempt – possibly minutes or even hours later, Darcy was unsure if they had slept between bouts – had been mostly groping in the dark, but she had declared satisfaction before he had achieved his, at least. Darcy promised himself to exert more control on their wedding night, but the rush of sensation from their first coupling would never be forgotten.

Darcy was beginning to feel overheated despite the chill of the day as his body responded to this train of thought. His watch told him that Elizabeth should appear at any moment, so he made an effort to calm himself before she arrived; though they had already been intimate, it would not do to frighten her with the thought that he meant to take her out in the open. Of course, there were a few private spots at Pemberley that made such a concept appealing...

Inhaling a deep, burning breath of frigid air, Darcy forced away fantasies of a rosy cheeked Elizabeth frolicking with him in a secret little pond on his estate by reminding himself that he had a rather painful conversation with Mr Bennet coming up shortly. This sobered him enough to regain control of himself and his baser urges, so he chased this train of thought to its conclusion. Mr Bennet was known to be rather indolent and, frankly, lazy as a parent, yet any man would undoubtedly be enraged by the knowledge that someone had compromised his daughter. And not only through innuendo and rumor, but by _act_. Darcy would consider himself fortunate not to be called out over Elizabeth's virtue, though perhaps Mr Bennet would be wise enough to remember that his estate was entailed away from the female line before doing anything rash. Hopefully, Darcy's intention to marry the lady in question would quell some of Mr Bennet's anger. Their tryst remained private and, so as long as the nuptials were handled carefully, there would be no malignant rumors to injure any of the other Bennet daughters, thus mitigating the actual harm done. And, truthfully, Mr Bennet should count himself lucky that he was gaining such a son-in-law by any means. Other fathers would have been proud of their progeny for trapping a man like Darcy so neatly.

Not that he suspected Elizabeth of ensnaring him – certainly not! He had been woefully weak against her charms before he had entered her bedchamber and, more to the point, _he_ had sought _her_ out that night. She could not be blamed in the slightest. Not unless one were inclined to blame a lady for being utterly beguiling and irresistible (not that Wickham had not tried a time or two to present that very argument to an enraged husband or father of one of his conquests).

Darcy checked his watch again; it was already a little past seven. Where was Elizabeth? He calmed himself with the thought that she was hardly late at all and that his own impatience to see her was what made it feel like an eternity to wait.

But, still, where was she?

Darcy circled the large oak tree perched upon the crest of the hill five more times before he finally spotted his lady love in the distance. "Only ten minutes late," he rationalized as his feet propelled him in her direction, "that is not so very bad."

Darcy had made it about halfway back down the slope before Elizabeth noticed him. She froze in place for a moment, staring at him most inscrutably, before quickening her pace to meet up with him. She stopped when they were within three feet of one another, but Darcy proceeded forward to close the last remaining distance between them and claimed both of her hands for his own.

"Elizabeth," he greeted, feeling the warmth from her fingers tingling within his palms. He leaned forward and kissed her apple red cheek; it was cold upon the surface but warming from the inside.

Elizabeth tilted herself back and broke contact with him, her lower lip clamped between her teeth. She released it, plump and pink, to reply, "Mr Darcy, good morning."

Darcy chuckled a little and his expelled breath rose like a cloud into the sky. "We can dispense with the formalities now, I think."

Elizabeth stared at him as if his ears had suddenly transformed into turnips.

Clearing his throat with a little cough, Darcy reminded her, "My Christian name is 'Fitzwilliam.'"

"Oh," was all she said to that.

Very well, pressing on. "What time shall I call upon your father today? We will need to choose an early wedding date in case...," he trailed off to allow her to fill in the obvious blank.

Clever girl that she was, Elizabeth comprehended his meaning immediately and cast her eyes down to the ground where the tips of her walking boots barely peeked out from beneath the muddy hem of her gown. The dirty state of her clothing reminded him of the first time he had truly wanted her in a carnal way, that day she had arrived at Netherfield all flushed and rumpled from a long walk and ready to care for her ailing sister. He had fantasized later about throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her up to his rooms where he could more thoroughly muss her.

"I...," Elizabeth allowed her answer to evaporate into the air as he had and withdrew her hands from his grasp. They relocated themselves to press against her waistline, possibly out of habit or as a reminder of the possible consequences of their night of passion. Either way, she took a deep breath and released it before pressing on, "Are you certain that you wish for this? Marriage?"

'_Is she daft?_' The expression on his face must have betrayed his unshared thought because she responded as if he had said it aloud.

"It is just that we have disliked one another for above two months now and I fear that committing ourselves so irrevocably might be a terrible imposition, to you as well as myself." She spoke rapidly as if fearful that he would stop her. "I am ruined for marriage to any other, of course, regardless of what we decide here, but as no one is aware of what happened at least my sisters' prospects will remain unaffected." Her eyes, so remarkably fine, rose to his face and stared at him with a forced boldness. Her quivering chin betrayed the surge of emotion – Indecision? Fear? Resentment? It was apparently not love – that she was clearly struggling to suppress.

Darcy could feel panic swell within him where before there had been masculine pride. At any moment he would surely burst from the strain of holding it within.

"'Dislike each other'?" he repeated, equal parts confused and terrified. He could recall being bewitched, excited, enthralled, moved, passionate and entirely infatuated with her, but he had never felt anything approaching dislike. At most, he had _attempted_ to quell his rising fascination with her and failed utterly.

Elizabeth shifted her feet a little, clearly uncomfortable. "Well, you _did_ call me 'tolerable' when we first met. I rather assumed that it was the drink which brought you to my room the other night."

Darcy could feel his spine and shoulders stiffening. His voice was likewise tight when he said, "You mistake me, madam. I told you why I had come to you then and I spoke the truth. I ardently admire and love you and wish to make you my wife."

Elizabeth seemed taken aback, though whether by his tone or words he could not discern. Perhaps both.

"Furthermore," he continued as she opened her mouth to speak, "I believe that my first proposal, such as it was, has already been accepted. If not by your words, then your actions cemented our betrothal two nights ago."

Elizabeth's brow was now folded low in a scowl. "I beg your pardon, sir, if I have offended you, but our...interlude notwithstanding, _your_ actions since arriving in Hertfordshire have indicated to me that an alliance with my family – and myself, in particular – would be a degradation to you. Indeed, I believe I recall you saying as much before our...our passions," here she blushed deeply, "overcame us. I had not known you a month before I felt that we were the last two people in the world who should ever marry!"

Flabbergasted, Darcy replied, "And this is what you think?"

"You called me '_tolerable_,' sir!" Elizabeth reminded him again with some vehemence, her arms flailing high into the air for emphasis. She swirled away from him and paced some distance before whipping back around to continue, an accusatory finger pointed in his direction, "But 'not handsome enough to tempt you'! What was I supposed to think? That you were on the verge of proposing?"

As a matter of fact, he _had_ been on the verge of proposing to her. Not then, but soon after. That was why he had intended to flee to London immediately after the ball, only to be prevented by subsequent events which led to contracting the obligation he had hoped to avoid. Still, he could not say _that_. "I had not thought you were aware I said that."

"The _entire neighborhood_ is aware," Elizabeth parried, her hands now balled into fists and planted upon the crests of her hips. "Four-and-twenty families may not be a large community compared to London, but it is still a great number of people who know I have been slighted by you. _No one_ in Hertfordshire thinks you have any great opinion of me."

Darcy swallowed. In trying to curb any expectations from being built, he had gone much too far and now the woman he loved, one he had irrevocably compromised, was attempting to release him from what she assumed was an unwanted engagement. Irony had never tasted so bitter.

"I did not mean it," he said to the toes of his Hessians, unable to look at her glowering countenance any longer. "I had not meant for anyone to hear, yet that is no excuse. I used you as a pretext for getting Bingley off my back about dancing and that was wrong of me. Truly, I had barely looked at you before I said what I did and, when I saw you later that evening, I thought you most handsome. Indeed, you are quite the handsomest woman of my acquaintance and I have considered you so for some time."

The silence between them seemed colder than the November air as Darcy waited for Elizabeth to respond to his admission of regard. Was it too little, too late to achieve her reciprocal good opinion?

"You...you do not mean that," she said when she finally did speak, her voice breathy with wonder. Or, perhaps, considering the context of their conversation, incredulity; clearly he was inept at reading her. "My sister Jane is the beauty of the family, not I. You yourself said she was the only handsome girl in the room!"

"I assure you that I do mean it," Darcy countered, raising his eyes to hers in an effort to convey the earnestness of his declaration. They were wide and disbelieving, practically glowing a bright, grassy green in the light cast by the lazily rising sun. "Your sister is lovely, but you are the one who stirs my heart." He took a small, tentative step toward her. "You are the one whose fine eyes haunt my dreams." Another step, more sure this time. Elizabeth remained fixed in her position, but he moved slowly closer to avoid spooking her into retreat. "You are the one with the sharp wit and lively mind that has so entranced me."

He was finally close enough to reach out for her hand and did so, feeling the slightest tingle of her warmth as he drew near. Surprisingly, she allowed him to clasp it between both of his and raise it to his chest, just over his rapidly beating heart. Elizabeth was quiet and, if the shimmer in her verdant eyes was any indication, possibly close to tears.

"You," he pressed on as he cradled her hand against himself, "are the only woman in the world I could _ever _be prevailed upon to marry, Elizabeth. Please tell me that you will relieve my suffering and consent to be my wife."

Elizabeth's shining eyes spilled over and tears dripped down her face, dotting the back of his leather gloves when they fell from the point of her chin. She said nothing at all at first and her hesitation frightened him, but finally she spoke; "But...my family. You detest them, I have heard you say so."

"A small price to pay to have you as my wife," he declared at once, dipping his head closer to hers. Indeed, he had already settled it within himself to accept that which he could not change – and what he could not change was how in love he was with this woman.

"Will I be forced to give them up?" she asked, droplets sparkling in her eyelashes as she gazed up at him. She seemed to be gauging his truthfulness. Darcy's stomach did a happy flip when he realized that she had moved on from an implacable "NO" to pressing him for the possible logistics of their match.

Darcy shook his head, bending forward to lightly nuzzle her hairline. He was not yet daring enough to attempt a kiss, though his lips practically throbbed with the urge to press one to her temple. "No, of course not, but you will understand if I do not ask them to move to Pemberley," he quipped dryly. She hiccuped in response, which he thought might be an attempt at a laugh.

"And you are entirely certain that you will not later resent me for the circumstances that led to our marriage?" Elizabeth tilted her chin up so that their eyes, so close, lined up with one another. He could see the anxiety brimming deep within.

"Considering it was largely brought about by my own drunken foolishness, I should not think so," replied a startled Darcy. "Why do you ask?"

"Because my parents...," Elizabeth lowered her gaze again and fixed it upon their entwined hands resting upon his chest. She appeared to be debating whether or not she should share something so deeply personal to her family.

"Your parents do not have a happy marriage?" he encouraged. It had not been a difficult guess to hazard.

Elizabeth huffed and the curls dangling by her face fluttered. "No, they do not. You see, my sister Jane was born in April," Darcy was not sure what that had to do with anything, but he waited for her conclusion, "but my parents celebrate their anniversary in October." She raised her face and looked at him with meaning, her teasing eyebrow arched. Her mouth, however, was set in a grim line which altered the implication of her expression.

But what...oh.

"Your parents married because they had a child on the way?" he clarified. At times, simple arithmetic said as much as an entire tome full of words.

Elizabeth nodded. "They did and now my father resents her for it. I would not wish for their history to repeat itself."

"But what if _you_ are with child?" Darcy countered, squeezing her hand. "Such a practicality cannot be ignored, regardless of what you decide. It would be better to marry so that the babe could be accepted by society and you would not suffer the consequences of _both_ our actions. Your parents may have made an unhappy match out of a difficult situation, but their reasons were entirely sensible. I cannot imagine that they would have done differently if given the choice."

"I know," said Elizabeth, her voice a mere whisper. The chill wind tangled in the curls around her face as she continued, "but I have always vowed to marry for love in order to avoid my parents' fate."

"I _do_ love you, Elizabeth." Even to Darcy his voice sounded pleading.

She shook her head and those same ringlets bounced against her cheeks. "You may think so now, but – "

"I do!" Darcy interrupted, increasingly desperate to make her understand. "I have never felt this way about any woman before I met you. When I came to your bedroom that night, I did so because, in my drunken state, I feared that your illness might be serious and I had to see you for myself. My relief was so great to find you in no danger that I revealed my feelings then and there and then...I lost control of myself. I would marry you even if I had not. Will you not believe me?"

Elizabeth's eyes seemed to nearly glow as a shaft of sunlight penetrated their depths. "I hardly know you."

Far from bursting from emotion, Darcy began to deflate.

"But," she continued, the hand he had failed to capture rising to stroke gently, if tentatively, at his face; his breathing increased its tempo as she made contact, "I believe I want to. I _will_ marry you."

Finally, Darcy did burst, but with unrivaled joy that had been heightened by the anxiety of the past half hour. To relieve his feelings, he scooped her up in his arms and dragged her against his chest, swinging her around in complete revolution. She shrieked with laughter as her skirts arced through the sky, clinging tightly to his neck lest she fall.

He placed her back on her feet and, before she could even consider backing away, bent his head for a kiss that would remind them both of the passion which had brought them to this point.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, she never makes it easy for him, does she? Even I wasn't sure she would accept him for a minute there, lolz. Not that she wouldn't in the end, but...well, she's pretty well known for rejecting proposals, isn't she?

As for Darcy, y'all didn't _really_ think that he would hit it and quit it, did you? Taking a gentlewoman's virginity was a serious thing back then and I can't see any honorable man refusing to step forward and claim responsibility for it and Darcy is as honorable as they come. Wickham would have bailed, but not Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Be glad I didn't cliffhanger you, cuz I thought about it. XD

Btw, I stupidly wrote three more chapters to this thing (_**BAD**_ Mary) so expect some extra postings in the last month. Completion date will remain the same.

At this point I don't THINK that there will be any delays with this story or my others, but we just got our official close date on the house (December 5) and we're in a flurry of packing for the move, making it difficult to sit down and write. I'm doing my best, but please be forgiving if something goes awry. Much appreciated in advance if I test your patience!

To my fellow Americans (and/or anyone else celebrating), Happy Thanksgiving, Y'all!

**Next Update:** November 29, 2019 (Black Friday! Ho ho ho)  
**Expected Completion Date:** February 21, 2020

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	5. Chapter Five: Another Offer

**Title: **Under the Influence  
**Rating:** M – for sexual situations just this side of explicit.  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting: **Regency

**Summary:** A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"...and you should take it into further consideration that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made to you."

– Mr Collins, _Pride & Prejudice_, Volume I, Chapter 19

* * *

_**Chapter Five:** Another Offer_

Elizabeth

_Thursday November 28, 1811_

As they walked back to Longbourn together, Elizabeth could not quite decide what she felt about accepting Mr Darcy's proposal of marriage. She was determined to do it, she would not go back on her word even had the situation not required her to think practically about her future, but she was still very much conflicted over the entire matter.

Mr Darcy, it seemed, was brimming over with the confidence that their union would be a happy one. He certainly appeared to be getting exactly what he wanted, though Elizabeth would hardly have thought so upon waking this morning. To think that he actually preferred to be attached to a country miss with little to no fortune and lackluster connections! But then, he did claim to love her...could it be so?

Elizabeth tilted her head slightly so that she could look upon her walking partner beyond the rim of her bonnet. She had predicted (perhaps meanly) that he would radiate smugness once her acceptance had been assured to him, much as she would expect an indulged child to behave when he got his way, but that was not the impression she got from his mien. No, he looked...happy. Completely, totally and incandescently _happy_. Whatever his other faults and her own doubts about the permanence of his feelings, Mr Darcy clearly believed himself to be in love. And with her, of all women! Whom, to her knowledge, he had never looked at other than to find a blemish.

Of course, now that she was more aware of his romantic interest in her, perhaps she was forced to reconsider the meaning behind his looks. They were very constant and conveyed no obvious admiration, yet that he stared at her simply to find fault was still more strange, no matter that she had felt his burning judgment at the time. Clearly, she had misunderstood everything about this gentleman, even before Mr Wickham had whispered vindictive fictions in her ear. Had Mr Darcy been somehow enraptured by her, accounting for the intensity of his gaze? He had claimed as much himself during their tempestuous interview upon Oakham Mount. To think that, all this time, she had suspected him of watching her only to gain more fodder to make snide comments to his friends in private but, in actuality, he had been besotted with her! It rather boggled the mind, especially when Jane was the pretty Bennet sister rather than herself.

Elizabeth did not think meanly of her own looks; indeed, she had some rather pretty features, if she dared say so herself. Her face was a touch thin, perhaps, but her complexion had the brilliancy of one who spent time out of doors in the sunshine frequently. Her nose wanted no character and her teeth were, at the very least, quite tolerable. And her eyes she had always considered to be her finest feature as they were large, of the brightest green and shimmered with things other people seemed not to understand or appreciate. Well, aside from her father. And, it suddenly struck her, also Mr Darcy.

Still, she knew she was nothing to Jane who was the embodiment of the perfect English rose with her tall, slender frame and waves of golden hair. She had inherited their mother's eyes, a lovely shade of blue which reminded one of the sea, and her complexion had ever been free from blemish. More than that, however, Mrs Bennet had not exaggerated when she had told Mr Bingley that Jane was of the sweetest of temperaments and entirely forbearing in the face of strife. Her elder sister was not perfect, Elizabeth knew it was impossible for anyone, but if ever anyone _could_ be it would be Jane.

It was rather strange and baffling to Elizabeth that Mr Darcy proclaimed a preference for herself when Jane had always been the celebrated sister in the Bennet household. What could he possibly see in _her_ that could not be found in Jane? It was fortunate that Mr Darcy had no inclination to try and steal her sister from Mr Bingley, but it was a most confounding situation, indeed...

"Is aught wrong, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth jumped when Mr Darcy broke into her thoughts. She turned her face more fully to his and queried, "Wrong, sir?"

"You look as if something is troubling you," he said, wariness about his countenance, "are you having second thoughts about..."

"Oh!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "No, no – not at all. We have resolved that between us, I think. I have no intention of breaking our engagement."

Mr Darcy's shoulders lowered slightly, a visible sign of relaxation at her words. "Then what is amiss?"

Elizabeth hesitated to share her apprehensions, which led to a stretch of uncomfortable silence between them. Though generally adept in social situations, she found herself at a loss as to what to say to this man who would, sooner rather than later, become her husband. Should she promote further closeness between them by inviting him into her concerns? Or would doing so offend him and push them apart?

Coughing, Mr Darcy continued, "Elizabeth, I would hope that you can share your burdens with me as we are soon to be closely connected. I shall do my utmost to assist you overcome your troubles."

"It is not a trouble, per se..." She hesitated a moment more, but then took a deep, stinging breath and began, "I suppose I still do not quite understand your feelings for me. I had been convinced of your dislike for many weeks and it is difficult to comprehend anything else."

"I see."

"Further," she pressed on, despite the disconcerting stony quality of his expression, "I cannot account for your choice at all! As we have already discussed, I am hardly the most eligible bride for a man such as yourself, even here in Hertfordshire. Surely the _ton_ would understand your choice better if you selected a woman such as Jane – for her beauty speaks for itself – and I cannot seem to rationalize your preference for _me_."

As Darcy stopped, so did Elizabeth. He released the reins to his horse and the tamed beast stayed near, though bowed his head to the grass to nibble at whatever blades might be worth eating. Her betrothed captured her hands – a habit of his, Elizabeth had noticed recently – instead as he explained himself. His mien had softened during the second part of her speech to one of concern. "Elizabeth, your sister is many charming things, but she is not the type of woman I could see spending my life with. She is beautiful and kind – "

"You are making my case, sir," said Elizabeth, attempting to tease her way out of this situation. She arched her eyebrow at him for good measure.

"She is a lovely young woman," he continued, firmly, "but she is nothing to _you_. I do not wish to insult her – indeed, that is not my intent at all – but she has not your spirit and vivacity, which I find most delightful. Additionally, simply because _some_ may find her more attractive than yourself it does not necessarily follow that _all_ do. I, myself, have been enraptured by your beauty almost from the moment I saw you."

"Despite being merely 'tolerable'?" Elizabeth felt a tightness closing in upon her throat and she struggled to keep her tone light.

"I have already explained that, I believe," said Darcy, his gray eyes growing soft like fluffy clouds. "I had hardly looked at you when I said that. Indeed, I later looked at you to find fault, but was forced to admit to myself that you were perfectly lovely."

Elizabeth could feel herself growing warmer under his barrage of compliments. She was not used to being told she was beautiful, even though many were willing to admit that she was pretty enough, and had never been spoken to in this way by a man before. That it was Mr Darcy extolling her supposedly great beauty was even more astonishing!

Embarrassed, she resumed walking, though she allowed him to retain possession of one of her hands. He placed it upon his arm as they moved forward, nickering to his horse to follow as he retook the reins and they proceeded in the direction of Longbourn.

"As long as we are on the subject," Mr Darcy said after a few more minutes of their journey, "I wish to know if you have any other concerns regarding our felicity in marriage. I hope that I may endeavor to overcome whatever hesitations you may have, though I cannot unless I know what they are."

Elizabeth clung to this change of subject with enthusiasm. "We have already discussed some of your previous behavior," she saw him flinch from the corner of her eye, "and your willingness to tolerate my family, but I am still curious as to your relationship with Mr Wickham."

Mr Darcy halted their progress again, his expression reverting to its former stony state. His eyes, previously light and fluffy, hardened similarly. "You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns," he all but accused.

Huffing a little in frustration, Elizabeth countered, "Indeed I do not, sir. I have taken your rebuke from the ball to heart and recognized that his communication to me was improper in the highest degree and, as such, likely cannot be trusted. However, as there are two sides to every story, I would have yours if I am to acquit you of all cruelty toward him."

"Is my word not enough?" he asked with some coldness.

"You do not have to share your confidences with me, Mr Darcy, but I recommend that you take your own advice about shouldering burdens together," she said, raising both of her eyebrows at him in expectation.

"Fitzwilliam."

Elizabeth stared at him for a moment, blinking in confusion in regard to his non sequitur. "I beg your pardon?"

"I would have you call me 'Fitzwilliam,' Elizabeth," he replied, his voice growing downy soft. "We are to be married and I would prefer, when we are in private, if you would refer to me by my Christian name."

Elizabeth, feeling suddenly bashful at this new intimacy, bowed her head slightly and whispered, "Fitzwilliam, then. Would you please share your story with me?"

He still seemed reluctant, forcing her to sigh in exasperation.

"Mr Darcy, truly, you may count on my discretion. The contents of Mr Wickham's conversation with me have not been divulged to the neighborhood at large because I have held them back. Considering I was not terribly fond of you at the time, I believe that speaks to my ability to hold my tongue admirably," she reminded him with asperity.

"Fitzwilliam."

Elizabeth clenched her teeth. "_Fitzwilliam_, I would have your explanation. Or can you not trust me?"

Mr Darcy heaved his own sigh and began his tale. "Very well, but know that my reluctance to speak has nothing to do with you; other parties have claim on my silence. You see, Mr Wickham is the son of a very respectable man..."

Elizabeth was entirely horrified by the end of Mr Darcy's relation of events. To think that she had believed such a scoundrel over the warnings of her family, dearest friend and the man himself! Though his behavior had not been quite right – insulting and insufferable, really – Mr Darcy had never shown himself to be otherwise than honest and principled. Mr Wickham, according to the actual facts – and she could not doubt Mr Darcy's veracity for he offered documents and testimonies as proof, which was far more than Mr Wickham had had at his disposal – was nothing short of a libertine.

Far worse than rejecting the much contested living and squandering a small fortune in its place, the cad had actually set his sights much higher and preyed upon the sweet innocence of Mr Darcy's younger sister. He had convinced the girl, no older than Lydia at the time, to an elopement which, had her brother not stepped in to put a stop to it, would have likely resulted in her utter ruin and disgrace. Even had Miss Darcy actually married him, as proscribed by society in such situations, she would have been miserable with a man such as Mr Wickham – any woman would be!

And this was the fiend that she had taken at his word? Wretched, wretched mistake!

"Elizabeth," Mr Darcy's voice was gentle and placating, the touch upon her elbow as he turned her to face him more so, "do not blame yourself for believing him. Many, I might even say most, do before he inevitably reveals his true character. Not only my sister, but also my father had been under Wickham's spell. I only escaped the same because, being so close in age, I was able to see him unguarded moments which others were not privy to. It taught me to be wary of everything he said, though I never did anything about it. Truly, I blame myself far more because, as with Georgiana, I should have made others aware of his perfidy rather than allowing him to carry on as he liked."

Elizabeth shook her head. "But I, who have prided myself upon my discernment – "

"Could not have known what he was," Darcy interjected, tipping her chin upward with the crook of his finger so that he could look more directly into her eyes. "As I said, he has fooled those who are far older and wiser than ourselves. He has that talent which enables him to make friends easily, though he has never been capable of keeping them for long. Unfortunately, by then it is far too late in most cases."

Elizabeth still felt quite miserable at the revelation of Mr Wickham's true nature and castigated herself silently for ever having given credence to his scurrilous accusations. She had been so blinded by her own prejudice against Mr Darcy that she could not have been more so had she been in love with him!

Could she – ?

No! It was impossible. As she had pointed out to the gentleman himself, she hardly knew Mr Darcy at all and her old opinions were in the midst of a monumental shift. However, for the first time since making his acquaintance, Elizabeth found herself wishing to know him better. She had high hopes of finding him quite the reverse of what she had previously believed; already his newly revealed tender feelings and persistence in wishing to treat her honorably spoke well of Mr Darcy's true nature.

Elizabeth cast her eyes far afield where her family home was just now visible in the distance, wreathed in a white fog which was being burned away by the sun as it climbed higher into the sky. The single field between them and Longbourn glistened with frost while she contemplated everything they had discussed that morning. It seemed like so long ago that she had awoken in her bed, grim but determined to release Mr Darcy from a mutually despised arrangement, and how her feelings had altered. Her emotions regarding her newly betrothed were still in flux and likely would not be made clear to her today, but the turmoil over being wretchedly unhappy for the rest of her life was beginning to fade. Whatever she had thought of Mr Darcy before she must endeavor to forget because he was now, in effect, a new man to her, though he remained essentially as he ever was. She must try to get to know his true self and, hopefully in the attempt, they could find happiness together. If not that, perhaps a measure of contentment would suffice, but neither would be possible if she did not first dispose of all of her previous prejudices against him.

Taking in a deep breath of frosty air, Elizabeth turned to Mr Darcy with a rather weak but genuine smile for him. His own countenance lightened in response. "Shall we speak to my father, sir?"

o0o

Upon reaching the house, Elizabeth was feeling better than she had since waking up in Mr Darcy's arms two mornings ago. She was still rather anxious at the prospect of spending her life with a man, as it turned out, she knew not well at all, but the new revelations they had shared this morning eased some of her trepidation. Mr Darcy might just prove to be a good man whom she could learn to love after all.

They had spoken little since the termination of their conversation regarding Mr Wickham, but the silence had been more comfortable than those that had come before it. He had shown his affection for her in timidly endearing ways, such assisting her unnecessarily over a half-frozen mud puddle and drawing her close to share warmth, and fondness for him was beginning to bud somewhere deep within her. It was still a far cry from being desperately in love, as she had long hoped she would feel for her future marriage partner, but it was better than what she had dreaded these last few days.

As they approached the front door, Mr Darcy finally spoke, saying, "Elizabeth, I would wish to speak to your father in privacy before inviting you to join us."

Elizabeth felt a surge of her previous dislike rising within her, but she tamped it down by reminding herself that she had only just vowed to think better of him. She had misunderstood his intentions before, so perhaps his rationale was not as condescending as it seemed. "I would like to be party to the discussion of my own future, sir." Her tone, unfortunately, was not as conciliatory as she would have liked.

"I understand," he said quickly, "but it is traditional for a man to seek consent from a woman's father alone and, considering how far from tradition we have already skewed, I believe it would show a certain level of respect to not deviate in this instance. Additionally, I feel that some...explanations must be made to justify our haste to the altar. I suspect your father will be angry – and justifiably so – and wish to spare you."

Elizabeth blushed fiercely as his meaning became clear. "You feel that you must tell my father about..._that_?"

"I fear so."

"Can we not simply keep it to ourselves?" she suggested, though knowing herself that it would be wrong to do so. Elizabeth had – probably rather foolishly – intended to keep her indiscretion with Mr Darcy to herself unless it proved impossible to disguise in the future, thus informing Mr Bennet had not been considered as anything but a worst case scenario.

"I am afraid not," he replied with a grimace. "I would not compound our misbehavior by lying. All manner of deceit is abhorrent to me."

Reluctantly, she admitted internally that her fiance had the right of the situation; her father must be told. Elizabeth laughed, though the sound warbled. "So long as you see the good sense to not make the...the _incident_ public, I suppose you must be right. Besides, now I think of it, my mother will likely want us to wait several months so that she can plan an elaborate celebration."

Mr Darcy's face was stony again, which was a revelation in itself. He seemed to adopt this visage primarily when he was displeased about something.

This time, Elizabeth's laugh resumed a hint of merriment. "Do not fear, sir! We cannot wait long to marry and so she will have to accept her limitations in this matter. When do you think we should meet at the altar?"

Darcy's face relaxed a little as he said, "It is somewhat up to your father, I think, but I believe it would be acceptable to wait for the banns to be read. A month will make no difference, even if..." he trailed off with a glance toward the house, as if wary of someone overhearing him. He was probably correct to be so conscious of their location.

"So...Christmas, then?" surmised Elizabeth, feeling a clench low in her gut. She would be married before the new year.

"Yes, that would be preferable."

"And then – "

"Cousin Elizabeth! Here you are," cried the nasal tones of the _absolute_ last man in the world she could ever marry; she had been exaggerating before when she had hinted to Mr Darcy the same thoughts about their union. Elizabeth closed her eyes momentarily and said a silent prayer for patience as Mr Collins scuttled forward from the front door like a large black spider ready to pounce upon her. "I have been awaiting your arrival downstairs for some time and had not realized that you were out for a walk. Had you but indicated you wished to take some exercise, I would have gladly –_ Mr Darcy_!"

How Mr Collins had initially failed to notice the tall, looming presence of Mr Darcy quite escaped Elizabeth's comprehension, but it amused her all the same. Allowing her impertinent smile to remain, she said, "Mr Collins, I believe you are recently acquainted with Mr Darcy. Mr Darcy, Mr Collins is my cousin and the heir to my father's estate."

Darcy gave the barest of nods to the sweaty, befuddled parson. "Indeed."

"Mr Darcy! Of course, of course – it is my great pleasure to see you again, sir. Your noble aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh" – why Mr Collins seemed to think that Mr Darcy needed reminding of his own aunt's name was not clear to Elizabeth and she could not help snorting in laughter at the expense of both men – "has, as you know, bestowed upon me the valuable living at Hunsford and I can assure you that I am most grateful for her condescension. Indeed, she was just telling me when I was last fortunate enough to be in her gracious company – "

"Yes, Mr Collins," Darcy interrupted lest they listen to the rector expound upon her ladyship's bountiful beneficence all day, "I thank you for your welcome. However, I have some urgent business to discuss with Mr Bennet and must bid you a good day. Eliz – " he caught himself and, coughing, formalized his address, "Miss Elizabeth, I thank you for your escort. I shall now leave you to your...family."

Thus, bowing over Elizabeth's hand, he departed. The smirk lingering on his face as he bid her proper adieu nearly made her burst out laughing again; he clearly thought he was avenging himself upon her for abandoning him to Miss Bingley the other day. Very well, she conceded the point; _t__ouche_, Mr Darcy!

Elizabeth watched him disappear into the house, mirth bubbling within her at his smug defection, and had nearly forgotten the presence of Mr Collins until he said, "Cousin Elizabeth, may I escort you into the house?"

"Hm?" she looked to her cousin who had his elbow jutted out for her to take. Knowing it would be rude to decline, she placed her hand lightly upon his sleeve and, while maintaining as much distance between them as possible, allowed him to lead her into the house.

Mr Collins continued to pontificate as he squired her toward the parlor, expounding upon how fortunate he was in his patronage, the neatness of his home and the enviable position he had attained in his own community. He spoke as if she would be seeing it herself soon, which Elizabeth ignored; even were she inclined to accept any connection to this incurably stupid man, her future was already set with Mr Darcy – _Fitzwilliam_. She flushed with a little pleasure at the thought, remembering not only his ardent declarations of love but also his fervent _attentions_ at Netherfield, though she tamped this feeling down for fear of giving Mr Collins any sort of misconstrued encouragement.

Mr Collins opened the parlor door and ushered Elizabeth inside, strangely eager. It did not occur to her that this oddity was out of the normal way for him – who could comprehend a man such as Mr Collins with any degree of accomplishment? – until she realized that the room within was empty. She startled when she heard the portal to the hallway close with a snap.

She turned to Mr Collins, a touch of panic blooming in her chest. Surely he could not mean to compromise her! Mr Darcy had already done so quite thoroughly and, as enjoyable as she had ultimately found it, she was not in a hurry to allow yet another man to injure her virtue. Indeed, her future husband was the only man allowed the privilege and _he_ was on his way upstairs to meet with her father. "Mr Collins, I beg that you open the door at once, sir. It is not proper for us to be closed in here together."

Mr Collins merely chuckled at her distress and waved his hand dismissively at her. "Do not make yourself uneasy, dear Cousin, for I have permission from your honored mother to make this address. And believe me that your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there _not_ been this little unwillingness."

Oh, how comforting. To think that her _unwillingness_ was a virtue. Well, he was sure to expect a lot of it very soon.

Elizabeth was tempted to cut him off before this interview could become even more humiliating than it presently was, but she was forced to sink into a chair and wait as he continued, without pause, "You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been far too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house I singled you out as the companion for my future life."

Yes, Elizabeth recalled that much perfectly well. Unlike her Mr Darcy, – _Fitzwilliam_, she reminded herself again – Mr Collins had been drawn first by Jane before settling for the younger, less perfect sister. For Elizabeth, the admiration of her fiance was becoming far more flattering each passing second.

Mr Collins proceeded to enumerate all the reasons she should be grateful to be marrying him, not the least of which was his connection to Lady Catherine de Bourgh. It was with grim amusement that Elizabeth recognized that her marriage to Mr Darcy would, in fact, bring her _even closer _to that great dame in Kent than that which Mr Collins could boast.

And to think that this meddlesome dowager whom she had never met would involve herself in these matters! It was ridiculous in all respects that Lady Catherine, her future aunt-by-marriage, would direct her parson to make a proposal to a woman neither of them knew anything about. The Bennets were a respectable family, but still unknown to either Mr Collins or his patroness at the time she had given him her directive to find a bride amongst them. It seemed her blind recommendation was enough for Mr Collins, however.

All sincere mirth at Mr Collins and his pretensions, however, faded away as he continued his proposal, blithely ignorant of how deeply he was insulting and offending his intended bride. Even Mr Darcy, in his drunken state, had not been so crass and rude! To think that Mr Collins considered it appropriate to _forgive her_ for her portion being so small, as if she could help it! Moreover, her inheritance upon the death of her parents would have been much greater had Mr Collins not been the one to whom it was to be settled upon instead. To mention his good fortune after her father's demise would be tasteless in any situation, but to bring it up within the context of a proposal of marriage was nothing short of vulgar! As if she would then look forward to inheriting Longbourn with him.

It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.

"You are too hasty, sir," she cried, "You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do it without further loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me," if it could truly be considered such, "and know that I am very sensible of the honor of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline them."

"I am not now to learn," replied Mr Collins with a formal wave of the hand, "that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favor; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long."

Was this man's stupidity to be believed? What young lady would reject the advances of a gentleman whom she wished, ultimately, to marry? It boggled the mind and defied all common sense! The lot of a woman was to marry as well as she could, thus seeing to her own future comfort, and toying with the emotions of a proper candidate for husband was exceptionally foolhardy in the worst degree. It would be one thing for a female to reject a partner whom she could not love or find compatibility with, but to coyly refuse one whom she liked was...was...there were no words for how ridiculous she would be. Elizabeth's dear friend Charlotte, ever more practical than she herself, would be astounded – nay, disgusted – to hear that any such woman could be in existence! And her mother would faint at the very idea.

"Upon my word, sir," exclaimed Elizabeth after a moment of collecting her thoughts, "your hope is rather an extraordinary one after my declaration. I do assure you that I am not one of those young ladies – if such young ladies there are – who are so daring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second time. I am perfectly serious in my refusal – you could not make _me_ happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who would make _you_ so. Nay, were your friend Lady Catherine to know me, I am persuaded she would find me in every respect ill qualified for the situation." And she likely would not be any more pleased to discover that Elizabeth was engaged to Mr Darcy instead.

Mr Collins proceeded to tell her that, though such a thought of Lady Catherine's disapprobation was sobering, indeed, there could be no objection to their marriage once he had explained to her ladyship all of Elizabeth's better qualities. Moreover, he expected his new bride to be practically stunned into silence by the grand dame's magnificence and respect would naturally flow forth from there.

He was interrupted by a loud thumping sound which resounded above their heads. They each looked up to the ceiling, he with wonder and she with trepidation, and pondered the source of the sudden disturbance. Elizabeth, from her many years of residence within that house, knew Papa's study to be the room hovering over them and bit her lip nervously. So caught up in the insulting proposals of Mr Collins, she had entirely forgotten to be anxious over the discussion happening simultaneously between Mr Darcy and her father.

"Ahem, well, yes...as I was saying – "

Elizabeth returned her attention to the situation immediately before her and cut off her would-be paramour. "Indeed, Mr Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary. You must give me leave to judge for myself and pay me the compliment of believing what I say." She could have gone on to flatter him with respect to his benevolence in attempting to "heal the breach" between their respective families, but she was quickly losing patience with his persistence.

She might have borne with him better had concerns over the interview happening in another part of the manor not been disturbing her equanimity, but she was tiring of this silly man who had no claim on either her hand or affections. Elizabeth wished to have done with him already so that she might proceed upstairs to join her father and Mr Darcy.

However, Mr Collins was clearly in no mind to take her at her word and thus proceeded, "When I do myself the honor of speaking to you next on the subject I shall hope to receive a more favorable answer than you have now given me; though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present, because I know it to be the established custom of your sex to reject a man on the first application, and perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage my suit as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the female character."

"Really, Mr Collins," cried Elizabeth with some warmth, "you puzzle me exceedingly. If what I have hitherto said can appear to you in the form of encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as may convince you of its being one."

Her testy chastisement had no effect upon the parson other than to launch him into another long, tedious soliloquy about all the reasons she could not possibly be spurning his offer – his connection to Lady Catherine, their relationship as cousins, his projections of future wealth, and so on – before concluding, "and you should take it into further consideration that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you. Your portion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I shall choose to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females."

Her betrothal to Mr Darcy, the nephew of Mr Collins' most esteemed patroness, was on the tip of her tongue, but Elizabeth withheld the urge to divulge it just yet. Surely the matter would be made known to all and sundry before long and further entreaties from this obsequious toad would cease.

However, Elizabeth felt it incumbent upon herself to defend her position one last time, deeply angered and insulted by the notion that he would infantilize her in such a degrading way. Women had few choices to call their own and the power of refusal was foremost amongst them. "I do assure you, sir, that I have no pretension whatsoever to that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you again and again for the honor you have done me in your proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant female intending to plague you, but as a rational creature speaking the truth from her heart."

"You are uniformly charming!" cried he, with an air of awkward gallantry, "and I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express authority of both your excellent parents, my proposals will not fail of being acceptable."

To such perseverance in willful self-deception, Elizabeth could make only one reply, which she gave with an accompanying huff of exasperation. "Very well, sir, then I must inform you that my hand and affections are in fact engaged elsewhere. I am sorry to occasion pain to anyone," if such a numbingly stupid person could, in fact, feel any such thing, "but it is so."

Mr Collins blinked at her, seemingly stupefied for a moment. He found his voice quickly enough, however, and the smug smile rose again upon his countenance as he said, "My dear Cousin, there is no need for such falsehoods. I assure you that my suspense is growing every moment and the addition of an imaginary rival for my affections is unnecessary."

Now she was even more offended. Did Mr Collins truly think that he was the _only_ man who would ever have her? "I assure you, Mr Collins, that I speak the truth. He proposed the night of the ball, I accepted and he is this moment above stairs requesting my father's consent."

Mr Collins looked no less self-assured than before. With a condescending chuckle, he said, "Very well, Miss Elizabeth, we shall play your game. If you must be wooed away from this _other man_," he said this with such skepticism that Elizabeth clenched her fists in her lap, "I shall take it upon myself to flatter you constantly. Indeed, I..."

Elizabeth heard no more of Mr Collins' blustering plans to "woo" her for she had risen in the middle of his speech and absconded from the room. As she tromped up the stairs, she could still hear the pompous tones of his voice leaking from the parlor and into the corridor as if he still had an audience. Not that he required one, apparently.

Elizabeth paused in front of the closed door to her father's book room, but ultimately continued on her way toward her bedchamber. She would honor Mr Darcy's request that she await summons, little though her already strained patience wished to accommodate him.

Safely ensconced in her room, Elizabeth flopped down upon her bed. What a morning it had been! Two marriage proposals – one renewed, the other dreaded – and so many revelations! She rather hoped that she would not experience too many days such as these because they were quite overwhelming.

SLAM!

Elizabeth startled into a sitting position as the door to her bedroom flew open to reveal the panting, agitated form of her mother in a full flutter of nerves. Mrs Bennet waved her lacy handkerchief above her head as she exclaimed, "Lizzy! How could you reject Mr Collins? We are all ruined!"

With a sigh, Elizabeth resigned herself to yet another conflict.

* * *

**Author's Note:** No cliffhanger last time, so you get one this time. Neener-neener!

I had fun with this chapter. I, myself, had a Mr Collins back in the day – a bad prom date. He sat me down once to "let me down gently" because he thought I was getting too attached to him and he was getting ready to graduate. It would have been a sweet gesture had he not also refused to believe me when I said that I was _not_ into him and was, in fact, dating someone else (who later became my husband, for the record). It wasn't so much the presumption as the absolute refusal to accept what I was saying to him that was so insulting. Also, after that he wouldn't leave me alone and it creeped me out (so much for "breaking up" with me). He also ruined the song "Lady in Red" for me forever, but we won't go there. Anyway, when I later saw/read the proposal scene featuring Mr Collins and Elizabeth I was like, "ZOMG! I totally feel you, girl."

Point being: this stuff absolutely DOES happen in real life. Also, I despise Mr Collins so don't expect a sympathetic portrayal of him in any of my fics cuz it just won't happen.

Quick update about my moving schedule, my family and I are closing on our house December 5 and officially moving into it a little over a week later on December 13. As of this moment, all my chapters/stories should be uploaded as scheduled, but PLEASE be forgiving if something unexpected causes a delay. I appreciate your patience and all your well wishes :)

To all of my American readers, Happy Thanksgiving and Black Friday!

**Next Update:** December 13, 2019 (Moving Day!)  
**Expected Completion Date:** February 21, 2020

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	6. Chapter Six: Condescending to Ask

**Title: **Under the Influence  
**Rating:** M – for sexual situations just this side of explicit.  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting: **Regency

**Summary:** A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse anything which he condescended to ask."

Mr Bennet, _Pride and Prejudice_ Volume III, Chapter 17

* * *

_**Chapter Six:** Condescending to Ask_

Darcy  
_Thursday November 28, 1811_

The chatter of Mr Collins faded away as Darcy ascended the staircase in search of Mr Bennet's study. He followed a plump maid as she led the way to a room just at the top of the landing and off to the left. She knocked and was bid enter by the droll tones of her master.

"Mr Darcy, sir," the girl announced as she bobbed a sloppy curtsy.

Mr Bennet, whose eyes had been trained on the pages of his book at their entrance, looked up. He hid his surprise well behind a facade of disinterested indolence, but a single arched eyebrow gave him away.

Darcy bowed to his future father-in-law and greeted him in subdued tones. The heady, intoxicating joy of Elizabeth's acceptance was fading and his nerves beginning to make themselves known in the depths of his writhing gut. If Elizabeth herself had been unaware of his mounting feelings for her, surely her father must be equally in ignorance. He could only hope that Mr Bennet would be more immediately amenable to granting his request than his second daughter had been.

Once the door had closed behind the maid, Mr Bennet took the opportunity to speak first. "So, Mr Darcy, what can I do for you this fine day?"

Darcy steadied himself; the moment was upon him. "I have come on a very particular errand, sir. I request your consent and blessing to marry your daughter."

Mr Bennet's book, which had remained propped open within his cupped palm as he had addressed Darcy, fell into his lap, completely forgotten. Such was the patriarch's astonishment at the request. "You wish to marry one of my daughters?" he repeated, both eyebrows now risen practically to his hairline.

"Yes, sir."

Seeming to recover himself somewhat, Mr Bennet leaned forward so that he was sitting more erect in his chair and tossed his book upon the surface of his desk, the leather binding causing a soft plop upon contact. He wove his fingers together and placed them upon the polished mahogany before him, his spectacles glaring at Darcy in the sunlight streaming through the window, and said, "Well now, Mr Darcy, I should like to grant your so eloquently spoken request, but I must ask you to be more specific. If there is one thing I do not lack it is daughters. Could you please be so kind as to inform me as to which one you wish to take as your bride?"

Darcy reddened, not appreciative of the elder man's sarcasm. "Miss Elizabeth."

At this, Mr Bennet barked a laugh. "Very good, sir. Did my Lizzy put you up to this?"

How could Darcy answer that? In some respects, Elizabeth _had_ put him up to this interview, but he was positive that Mr Bennet was conveying a different meaning. "I beg your pardon?"

"Come now, son." A lopsided grin was spreading across Mr Bennet's face. "I was not born yesterday. Did Lizzy ask you to perform this little prank? If she did, I give her points for creativity, but none for believability. And let us hope her mother never hears of this little farce or we shall all be in for it then!"

"Mr Bennet," Darcy's solemn demeanor was in great contrast to the Bennet patriarch's irreverent humor, "I can assure you that I am in earnest. I proposed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet after the ball and was accepted. I have come here to request permission."

Mr Bennet's smile, which had been wide and smug, was beginning to shrink. "You cannot be serious."

"I am very serious, sir."

The elder man was still maintaining his smiling facade, but it now appeared frozen to his face rather than a natural occurrence of mirth. The truth of the situation was beginning to sink in. "A prank is all well and good, sir, but there comes a point at which the joke must be given up."

"I am not joking," Darcy said, some irritation leaking into his tone. Was this man daft? What gentleman would risk his reputation by pretending to ask for the hand of a woman he did not intend to marry? Such nonsense could force him into a marriage he did not want or ruin him in the eyes of good society as a lying cad who trifles with the hearts of innocent young ladies. "I am completely in earnest. I have proposed to Miss Elizabeth, she has accepted me and I now ask your consent." Darcy repeated the last slowly and with exaggerated annunciation.

Mr Bennet was looking rather grim now. "I see," was all he said.

Darcy waited for his would-be father-in-law to continue, but nothing was coming from that quarter. Mr Bennet appeared to be absorbing Darcy's request (finally) and determining what to do about it.

After a long pause, Darcy ventured, "Do I have your consent, sir?"

Still, there was no immediate response. Darcy fought the urge to fidget with his signet ring as he stood before Mr Bennet's desk, his intentions exposed, as he awaited a proclamation for either good or ill. The man would have to be mad to deny Darcy considering the splendid match his daughter was making, but he honestly did not know what to expect from any of these Bennets at this point. Elizabeth had tried to break off their understanding under the misguided belief that they would not suit and that he, himself, disliked her. Mr Bennet seemed inclined to do the same. Perhaps he should take his request to the mother; she, at least, would not snub a man worth ten thousand a year.

At length, Mr Bennet said, "I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request."

"I beg your pardon?" Darcy was, despite his previously acknowledged concerns, taken aback that he might actually be refused by this man.

"I am rejecting your suit," Mr Bennet said plainly. "A good day to you."

As the elder gentleman was raising his book and preparing himself to read it again, Darcy exclaimed, "And this is all the reply I am to expect?"

Mr Bennet's spectacles flashed as he turned to look upon Darcy again. "What more is there to say? You have requested consent, I have denied it. I cannot see that there is anything more we need say to each other."

"You cannot deny consent," Darcy bit out, a little unwisely.

"Oh, can't I?" replied Mr Bennet, tossing his book to the side once more to address his younger adversary more directly. "I do not particularly care that you own half of Derbyshire, sir; _I _am the master of this house and the guardian of my daughters, not you. I may deny consent to whomever I deign unworthy their acceptance and this includes you. Can I make myself any clearer?"

Darcy pushed his own temper down and responded, "Miss Elizabeth has given me her promise. I can offer her – "

"I know what you can offer her," Mr Bennet interrupted, "but all the fine clothes and carriages in the world cannot atone for an unequal marriage. I can certainly attest to that much." He muttered the last under his breath.

Very well. Darcy had hoped to reveal this more gently, but he truly had no choice in the matter if the other option was to be denied outright. "There has been a compromise."

Mr Bennet sat back forcefully, clearly startled and upset by the notion. "How dare you, sir! My Lizzy would never take part in such a thing, especially with a man that she detests!"

Darcy flinched at the reminder that, until very recently, Elizabeth rather did detest the sight of him. And, in all honesty, he could not say for sure whether she actually _liked_ him now or not. "Perhaps that was the case," he allowed, "but there was an...incident. At the ball. As you know, Miss Elizabeth was taken upstairs due to illness and put to bed."

Mr Bennet nodded, his jaw tightening as his face became more deeply flushed with color.

"It turns out, of course, that she had accidentally partaken of too much of Hurst's tainted punch and was intoxicated. I, myself, overly indulged in drink that night, as well, and in my drunken state I intended to check on her well being. I went to her room – "

SLAM!

Darcy jumped as he was cut off by the sound of Mr Bennet's fist colliding with his desktop. "You forced yourself upon her and now you have the_ nerve _to come here and ask me for her hand? Well, I am not the kind of father, sir, who would give his daughter over to her abuser! I demand that you leave my house at once!"

"I did not force myself on her!" Darcy denied, vehemently. He linked his hands together behind his back so that his own fists would not lash out at the accusation. "We were both intoxicated, but there was no force and no coercion. We, in our less than rational state, allowed our passions to take control and...it was a mistake." The best mistake of his entire life, but still a mistake.

"And why should I believe you?" Mr Bennet sneered, his upper lip curling like parchment set aflame. Darcy had rarely seen even Miss Bingley so openly disdainful of another person.

"Because I am standing before you doing the honorable thing," Darcy countered, his gray eyes drawn into a glare. "If I were the type of rake that you suggest, if my only intention was to take what I wanted from your daughter and leave her ruined, I could have absconded to London this morning. Indeed, my plans were to leave Hertfordshire forever before this incident occurred, but I remained so that I could do what was right."

Mr Bennet stood up, his chair scraping against the floor behind him with a teeth-clenching squeal. "And so now you congratulate yourself on your magnanimous charity? You have taken my daughter's virtue whether by force or drunken mishap – and do not think that I necessarily believe your version of events – and expect to collect your reward? I suppose you consider yourself as very generous in resolving to fix what is left of Elizabeth's reputation."

"No, I – " Darcy was staggered by the injustice of these accusations and could not speak for a moment. When he had managed to suppress his rage enough, he continued, "You are incorrect, again, sir. I love Elizabeth and wish to make her my bride. This incident has only sped up the decision which I, after more deliberation, would have likely come to on my own."

Mr Bennet scoffed. "You love her? She, who is only 'tolerable' and 'not handsome enough to tempt you'? Well, I see that the latter part of your statement has proven false, though I cannot commend you for discovering it in such a way. _And furthermore_," continued the elder gentleman at an incrementally louder, more insistent volume when the younger would speak, "you were just telling me that you had plans to leave today for London were it not for this 'incident,' as you call it, never to return. When, precisely, were you intending to 'come to your senses' and propose to my daughter?"

That question was not so easy to answer, but Darcy took a deep breath and made the attempt. "I cannot say, of course, but my feelings for Elizabeth have been building these past months into a steady regard and esteem, one that I have been attempting to overcome. I have been unsuccessful in that endeavor and she has, instead, become more dear to me than ever. On the night in question, I could not stand the thought of her being ill, of needing aid, without attending to her. It was not the wisest choice to seek her out, I grant you, but in my state it had seemed the only one at the time. I could not stand idle while the woman I loved was suffering and so I did what I could to see to her comfort. I am convinced that, at some point in the future, these intense feelings for Elizabeth would have overcome all of my scruples against the match and I would have returned for her."

"You would have been in for a nasty surprise when you did," said Mr Bennet with a snort of mixed humor and derision.

Darcy could feel his neck growing warm as anger, mortification and grudging acknowledgment of the truth of Mr Bennet's taunt filled him. "Perhaps you are right, but that is neither here nor there. The issue at hand is that I have compromised Elizabeth and now intend to marry her. Can you truly disregard my suit with all of this before you?"

The Bennet patriarch stood behind his desk, one fist planted upon it for balance, as he clearly considered these words. "And if I were to ask Lizzy about this 'incident'? What would she say?"

With confidence, Darcy replied, "The exact same as _I_ have told you. Had I intended to lie, I would have denied my culpability in the matter. She will tell you that the inc – ahem, the events occurred just as I have described them."

Darcy supposed that he should be grateful that his Elizabeth had been so well protected against cads and rakes, even if he was struggling against it now. He had met other fathers in the _ton_ who had, far from discouraging his baser interests in their progeny, actually pointed out to him some very specific points of their beauty to him – and not only their pretty faces. These occurrences had been uncomfortable, at best.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, had a father who, while indolent in most matters, was apparently ready to champion her against a man of ten times his own consequence because he suspected malfeasance in Darcy's actions. He could respect that and knew he would similarly treat any young man who had come to him over a similar 'incident' with Georgiana – one need only ask George Wickham if that were the case.

Still, the subject at hand required a resolution. With a deep breath, Darcy addressed Mr Bennet once more. "Sir, considering all the facts, do I have your permission to marry Elizabeth?"

Mr Bennet had just opened his mouth, after another substantial pause, to answer when –

WHAM! The door flew open and collided with the plaster wall behind it, startling both gentlemen within the room and creating a large indentation where the knob had struck.

"Oh! Mr Bennet, you are wanted immediately; we are all in uproar," cried the screeching tones of Mrs Bennet as she whirled into the study like a vortex of lace and fury. She held Elizabeth by the arm and was dragging her daughter along behind her; the grip must have been painful for his lovely betrothed was wincing at the treatment. "You must come and make Lizzy marry Mr Collins, for she vows she will not have him, and if you do not make haste he will change his mind and not have _her_."

Mr Bennet's mien of indifference had now returned to his face, though there was a certain grimness around his mouth that Darcy could not help but recognize. "I have not the pleasure of understanding you," he said to his wife when she had finished her speech. "Of what are you talking?"

Mrs Bennet's exasperation was etched into her face and her eyes rolled upward as if begging the Almighty for patience with her wretched, teasing family. "Of Mr Collins and Lizzy. Lizzy declares that she will not have Mr Collins, and Mr Collins begins to say that he will not have Lizzy."

Darcy's presence, apparently, had gone unnoticed by the Bennet matriarch for she sent not a single glance in his direction nor curbed her effusions in honor of their guest. Then again, the latter event was not likely to happen in either case.

Elizabeth, however, stood just behind her mother with her eyes transfixed upon her betrothed. Darcy returned her gaze with his own and they shared the frustration of the moment with silent empathy.

"And what am I to do on the occasion? It seems a hopeless business," said Mr Bennet in the background. Darcy could hear him scrape his chair forward and then sit upon it with an indignant squeak from the furnishing.

"Speak to Lizzy about it yourself," whined Mrs Bennet, jerking upon her daughter's arm and whipping the young lady around to stand before her father's desk. Darcy's eye contact with Elizabeth had been severed by this motion, so he turned his head to view the scene as it was unfolding. "Tell her that you insist upon her marrying him."

Wait, _Collins_? Darcy stared at Mr Bennet as a wave of horror broke over him; her father would not give Elizabeth to that oaf just to thwart _his_ suit, would he? If he did, Darcy would fight tooth and nail –

"I am afraid, Mrs Bennet," began her husband, a smirk just barely tilting up one corner of his lips, "that I cannot oblige you."

Mrs Bennet looked stricken and clutched both hands to her heart. "What do you mean, Mr Bennet, by talking in this way? You promised to insist upon her marrying him."

"My dear," replied her husband, "Do allow me the free use of my understanding on the present occasion. I shall oblige neither you nor Mr Collins because Lizzy is already engaged," there was a short pause in which Mr Bennet looked to Darcy, inclining all others in the room to do likewise, "to Mr Darcy."

Darcy could feel practically his entire body unclench at this declaration. Mr Bennet had, apparently, come to the practical decision after all. He turned to Elizabeth and was gratified to find her smiling at him, though the meaning of her joy was disputable; he would have liked to believe that she showed pleasure at the prospect of marrying him, but rather suspected that she was merely relieved to not be connected to Mr Collins. Well, at least he was not actually the _last_ man in the world she could ever be prevailed upon to marry, despite what she had said before at Oakham Mount. There simply were not words for the humiliation he would feel should a woman – particularly his lovely, clever Elizabeth – prefer Mr Collins to himself.

This nauseating thought notwithstanding, he now had formal acceptance of his suit from both Elizabeth and her father. Now, all Darcy need do was somehow induce his bride to think of him as more than simply preferable to the most odious, irritating man he had ever met and all would be well. He vowed to himself to work diligently for her happiness in every possible way.

Mrs Bennet's reaction was what none of them had expected – absolute and complete silence. At length, however, she began to recover, to fidget about with her handkerchief, pace the room, wonder and bless herself.

"Good gracious!" she cried just about the time Darcy had believed (or perhaps hoped) she had been struck permanently dumb. "Lord Bless me! Only think! Dear me! Mr Darcy," here she looked at him with such glowing admiration in her eyes that Darcy shrunk back a half step. "And is it really true?"

"Yes, Mama," replied Elizabeth with some amusement. Her gaze was once again fixed upon her betrothed and her eyes shined with mirth at his expense, eyebrow raised in that impertinent way he adored. He allowed his own lips to expand slightly in return. "It is true. Mr Darcy has offered his hand and I have accepted him. We are to be married."

"Oh, my sweetest Lizzy!" exclaimed her mother as she rushed over to kiss Elizabeth upon both cheeks. She squealed at the top of her voice about pin money and carriages, but Darcy was too relieved and felicitous to be offended by her vulgarity. Mrs Bennet was a rather uncouth creature, but she was to be his mother-in-law and he must accept her as she was; he had promised Elizabeth that much. Moreover, he would take ten of her if he could have just one Elizabeth.

"Ahem," Mr Bennet coughed, drawing Darcy's attention back to him. The patriarch was still maintaining the cool calm that his veneer of indolence provided him, but Darcy suspected that he was withholding his ire for the sake of keeping their disagreement between themselves. Perhaps Elizabeth would be told of his displeasure later, but the men were in silent accord that Mrs Bennet should remain blissfully ignorant. "I suppose you will want to discuss a wedding date?"

Into this quagmire of celebration and reluctant acceptance strolled Mr Collins. The smug look on his face told Darcy that he had heard the exclamations of joy pouring forth from the room, misunderstood their import and come to bask in the success of his own prosperous romance. Well, he would be disabused of _that_ notion quickly enough.

"I can see that you have talked some sense into your daughter, sir," said Mr Collins to his male cousin. Mr Bennet turned to look at the man, an expression of true amusement growing upon his mien, and raised that same eyebrow that his daughter employed. "May I congratulate you on our closer connection? Indeed, I am overjoyed that my dear cousin Elizabeth has been made to see sense and has accepted my most generous offer. Lady Catherine will be most pleased when I tell her the news and may even write to my lovely betrothed herself! Would that not be a treat, Miss Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth glared at Mr Collins as if he were a fat spider preparing to jump upon her dress. "I believe you mistake the purport of our celebration, sir. I have _not_ accepted your offer, nor do I intend to do so, as I have already told you at length."

Collins ignored his supposed fiancee and addressed the lady whom he assumed would shortly become his mother-in-law. "And merry we shall all be once I have met my fair cousin at the altar! My dear madam, I must thank you for interjecting on my behalf; I suspect your daughter's feminine delicacy prevented her from accepting my offer at the first. I must commend you for instilling such elegance of character in her for it shall greatly add to my future happiness as her husband. Why, it was Lady Catherine herself who suggestion that I select a bride just such as she! 'Mr Collins,' she said, 'you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for _my_ sake; and for your _own_, let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.' And I believe that, with such elegant, delicate reluctance to enter the married state, coupled with her qualifications as an active sort of young lady of small fortune, my dearest Elizabeth will not fail to be acceptable to her ladyship."

The room was stunned silent for a moment until Mrs Bennet, speaking for them all in a shriek, exclaimed, "Mr Collins, what _are_ you talking of? Do you not know that Lizzy is to marry Mr Darcy?"

Though Darcy could not condone Mrs Bennet's tone, he could appreciate her sentiments. What sort of toad carried on in such a fashion without first applying _himself_ to a young woman's father? (Darcy most conveniently ignored the ways in which _he_ had usurped Mr Bennet's authority.)

Mr Collins, for his part, seemed to lack the comprehension to be truly confused. He laughed and bowed to Mrs Bennet. "Your sense of humor does you credit, Mrs Bennet. When Cousin Elizabeth and I are married, and the unhappy event of your husband's eventual demise comes to pass, I shall look forward to hosting you in my household."

A sound of utmost derision escaped from Elizabeth, drawing Darcy's attention to her. She was looking at him with her jaw set and both eyebrows raised as if to say "See what I have been subjected to in your absence?" Had Mr Collins not been so irritating to himself as an ignorant suitor, Darcy would have been tempted to laugh at the expression upon his bride's face. He also supposed that he owed Elizabeth supplication for her trials as, though her own abandonment of him to his own unwanted paramour had been less than appreciated, at least he had not been forced to suffer through a proposal from Miss Bingley.

In the meantime, the parson's misinterpretation of events could not be allowed to stand. Darcy was getting mightily frustrated with the apparently universal disbelief in his engagement. "Mr Collins," said he, drawing the black clad man's attention to himself, "Mrs Bennet is entirely correct. Miss Elizabeth is engaged to _me_."

"But...," Mr Collins looked as if his mind were churning slowly over the idea. The simpering smile he adopted after a long moment suggested that he had arrived at the incorrect conclusion, yet again. "But that cannot be, sir. It is my understanding that you are already engaged to your radiant cousin, the honorable Miss Anne de Bourgh. Lady Catherine herself told me of the match and anticipates a wedding in the spring. You must be joking – you cannot be serious that you intend to marry Miss Elizabeth."

Mrs Bennet wailed in the background and her daughter rushed to soothe her. Mr Bennet's expression had returned to the grim lines displayed during their earlier interview and his Elizabeth, his dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, was staring at him as if betrayed over her mother's shoulder.

When had he become the joking sort? Too many lately had seemingly decided that Darcy hid an inclination for inappropriate humor with a specific bent toward proclaiming himself falsely engaged. Had the world gone utterly insane? "I assure you, Mr Collins, that I am not in error. Furthermore," he said this with such firmness that the parson leaned away from him, "I am not, nor have I ever been, engaged to my cousin Anne. Lady Catherine wishes it were so, but it is not a fact."

"But Lady Catherine – "

"I have made myself perfectly clear on this subject, Mr Collins," Darcy interrupted, cowing the parson into quiet. "I have nothing more to say about it. I am to marry Miss Elizabeth and you shall have to look elsewhere for your own bride."

"That is impossible, sir! With all due respect – "

"Oh! What is to become of us all? Lizzy, fetch me my smelling salts – "

"You dare impugn my honor, Collins? I am my own man and my aunt – "

"Mama, do not listen to Mr Collins. Mr Darcy – "

"QUIET!" The squabbling in the room halted and a ringing silence fell over the study as all the occupants turned to stare at Mr Bennet, now standing once again behind his desk. Darcy had never witnessed the man so much as raise his voice before, even in the midst of their argument over Elizabeth's virtue, and by the expressions on the faces of his wife and second daughter he suspected that it was an unusual occurrence in general. Mr Collins seemed stupefied. "The engagement between Mr Darcy and our Lizzy stands; Lady Catherine will simply have to bear the disappointment. Now, I have two requests to make," said Mr Bennet to the room at large. "First, that I be allowed some measure of authority in my own house," he directed a glare at Darcy here, "and second that you all leave me in peace. I shall be glad to have the library back to myself as soon as may be."

"But – " Mr Collins began, but was quieted by an acidic green glare from his elder cousin. He gulped and subsided.

Darcy strode across the room and offered his arm to Elizabeth, which she accepted with relief and followed his lead out of the study.

Mrs Bennet had recovered quickly once her husband's final edict – the one in favor of the match between Darcy and Elizabeth – had been delivered and fled from the room before the rest of the party, calling for Hill and screeching about writing to her sister in London in regards to warehouses.

"Well, I suppose that went as well as can be expected," said Elizabeth rather dryly as they descended the staircase.

Darcy nodded, not sure what else to say as they approached the front door and he accepted his hat and cane from the housekeeper.

"I suppose you will come back to discuss the particulars of our ceremony," said Elizabeth, a little warily. She was looking up at him with her eyes soft and wide. "You will come back, will you not?"

Darcy smiled and bent his head to kiss her. Wild horses, angry fathers, silly mothers nor even obsequious parsons could keep him away.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Take THAT, Mr Collins XP

I uploaded a couple days early this week because Moving Day is on Friday and I just won't have time for anything not related to that venture. Since this chapter was already written/edited, I decided that it wasn't fair to delay even til tomorrow. Next update just after Christmas! Happy Holidays.

In the meantime, if you're interested in a bit of holiday magic please head to my profile to read my JAFF Christmas-themed fic, "Welcome Home." First chapter of five already posted, weekly updates.

_Welcome Home _(T/PG-13) – Christmas fic. Darcy returns home to Pemberley to the loving arms of a wife he doesn't remember having...Novella-length. Sweet and mostly clean.

**Next Update:** December 27, 2019  
**Expected Completion Date:** February 21, 2020

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	7. Chapter Seven: Miserable Forfeit

**Title: **Under the Influence  
**Rating:** M – for sexual situations just this side of explicit.  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting: **Regency

**Summary:** A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"My father's opinion of me does me the greatest honor; and I should be miserable to forfeit it."

– Elizabeth Bennet, _Pride and Prejudice_ Volume II, Chapter 3

* * *

_**Chapter Seven:**__Miserable Forfeit  
_Elizabeth

_Thursday November 28, 1811 _

Before Darcy could complete his obvious intention of bestowing a kiss upon her, Elizabeth leaned away from him, flush with mortification. Upon meeting air where he had undoubtedly expected to find her lips, Darcy's eyes opened to look at her in hurt confusion.

"Shall I walk you out, sir?" Elizabeth offered, darting her gaze toward the stairwell and back. Darcy's eyes followed the path of her own and he straightened upon recognizing the source of her hesitation; her father stood upon the top landing glowering at them from above.

"Ahem, yes, thank you Miss Elizabeth," replied he, a little more relaxed. He offered his arm to her and she took it, allowing him to lead them both outside.

Elizabeth felt a tension leave her shoulders as warm sunlight heated her cheeks upon crossing the threshold to the outdoors. The scowling mien of her disapproving father had discomposed her; she was unused to being the object of his disapprobation, that honor usually falling to one of her younger sisters. As Papa's undisputed favorite, it was rare for him to express anything other than pride and humor in his second eldest but that, however, had apparently changed since his meeting with Darcy.

Her newly official betrothed led her toward his horse where he dismissed the stable hand who presented him the reigns. Turning back to Elizabeth, Darcy murmured softly, "Apologies, Elizabeth. I had not been attentive to our surroundings when I...forgive me, I had not meant to embarrass you."

Elizabeth squeezed his forearm, which she still held within her grasp, reassuring him silently of her lack of offense. "Do not worry, sir. My sisters do much worse to mortify me on a daily basis and I have not yet disowned _them_. I am sure that our good will can survive one faux pas."

"You are magnanimous as always, madam," he praised wryly, a touch of a smile upon his mouth.

Elizabeth felt a little flutter in the depths of her stomach at the sight of his display of amusement and it occurred to her that Mr Darcy, as attractive as he was austere, could be rendered more so when his expression was lightened. To think that a man of _his_ physical attributes would think _her_ all that was desirable – it rather boggled the mind.

Elizabeth was further discomposed when he raised her hand from his arm to bestow his previously denied kiss upon it. "Until we meet again, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth," he whispered against the back of her knuckles.

She wished to say something clever in response, tease him just a little, but Elizabeth could not find the words within her overwhelmed mind to do so. Instead, she watched him release her and mount his horse, only just barely remembering to wave as he turned the animal around and began to canter up the lane.

Elizabeth reentered the house in a daze, her brain saturated with these new and powerful feelings for Mr Darcy. She had always considered him handsome – it was rather impossible _not_ to, quite frankly – but to see him treating her so tenderly created an entirely new perspective from which to view him from. Their passionate night together had told her that he was not always as cold as his frigid facade implied, but the searing heat of lust had seemed very different from the warmth of affection to her. Perhaps the two extremes were not so disparate after all.

"I assure you, madam, that you shall receive no charity from _me_ when your husband passes if you do not put aside this improper and indelicate engagement between my patroness' nephew and your second daughter. You shall find yourself without a roof over your head once I have inherited and then you will regret – "

"I have no more fear of that, sir! For Longbourn is _nothing_ to Pemberley, I am sure, and my sweetest Lizzy will not leave her dear mama to waste away in the hedgerows. She is a dutiful child who knows her place – "

Shouting from the parlor brought Elizabeth round to the present and she stopped in the vestibule where the rest of her sisters lingered, all shamelessly eavesdropping on the heated conversation taking place between their mother and Mr Collins. Considering how loud the two combatants were, the gaggle of Bennets might have heard them any other place in the house just as well.

Kitty and Lydia had pressed themselves up against the closed door, giggling and tittering about the newest upheaval to occur in their household. Mary was standing midway down the hall, just outside of the music room from whence she had recently been practicing, looking more prim even than usual. Jane, sweetest Jane, was pale with horror at the flurry of unkind words flooding their home and was the first to look Elizabeth's direction upon her entrance to the manor.

"Lizzy?" Jane said, her voice quivering. "What has happened? Are you truly to marry Mr Darcy?"

Her other three sisters, alerted to Elizabeth's presence by Jane's query, tore their attention away from the closed parlor door and looked at her expectantly.

"Aye, Lizzy, is it true?" Lydia broke in before her second eldest sister could speak. "Are you to marry that dour, insulting man?"

Elizabeth felt herself color at Lydia's thoughtless speech, though surprisingly more from anger than mortification. "I am and I insist that you cease speaking of Mr Darcy in that manner. He is to be your brother and treated with more respect."

Lydia and Kitty, far from being cowed by this admonition, resumed their giggling.

Mary was the next to speak, though her comments were, as usual, not quite to the point. "I am surprised at Mr Collins for issuing threats to our mother. He is behaving in a most unchristian way."

Elizabeth had nothing to say to _that_ remark, having neither a high enough opinion of the man to be surprised by his behavior nor the inclination to disagree with Mary's assessment. She allowed it to stand as nothing short of the absolute truth.

Before Jane could make her (probably forgiving) opinions known, yet another voice broke into the din. "Elizabeth, I wish to see you in my library."

Elizabeth craned her neck to look up the staircase where her father still hovered, his usual good humor bled away from his face to allow room for an expression of grim displeasure. His jaw was tight, his lips drawn into a straight line and his brows level with forced impassivity. She had never seen him look such a way before; even when his younger daughters were misbehaving, he always had maintained an air of amused indulgence.

Straightening her spine, Elizabeth drew in a deep breath to steady herself for the forthcoming interview. She ignored the looks of pity from Jane, the haughty disapproval from Mary and the giggling titters of Kitty and Lydia as she raised her foot to the first step.

Climbing the staircase had always been taken for granted by the healthful, spirited Elizabeth who had, as a child, more often than not taken them two at a time. As a young lady she had slowed herself to a more demure pace, yet it had never been an onerous task as it was now. As she rose to the second floor where her father waited, it felt almost as if she were scaling a treacherous, craggy mountain to face a fire breathing dragon in its cave. She gulped and attempted to dispel this imagery before coming to the open threshold of the library.

Her father was inside, having retreated to his sanctuary once his edict had been delivered, and seated behind his desk. His usual habit of reading a book had been dispensed with and he leaned back in his chair, spectacles removed so that he could pinch the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. His reading lenses dangled from the loose digits of his left.

"Shut the door, Elizabeth," he commanded without looking at her.

Elizabeth did as she was told, feeling a queasy suspicion that his lack of the use of the endearment "Lizzy" did not bode well for this conversation. She seated herself in her usual chair before his desk and waited for him to speak again.

At length, he sighed and dropped his hand from his face into his lap, fixing her with his penetrating deep green stare which was usually hidden behind the intermediary of his spectacles. Without them in the way, his gaze was more intense. "Tell me it is not true."

Context was not necessary to understand his statement; she understood perfectly well that her father referred to her liaison with Mr Darcy which had led to their hasty engagement. Elizabeth looked down to the hands resting across her lavender skirts, which fiddled with one another anxiously. "I cannot," she admitted in a voice that was only slightly above a whisper.

Mr Bennet sighed again, this time with a heavier quality which seemed to fall hard upon her shoulders. "Did he force you?"

"No, sir."

Elizabeth kept her head bowed, the creeping heat of shame prickling her cheeks, neck and chest as she awaited the lecture about maidenly virtue she knew must be formulating in her father's mind. She could probably even give it to herself, as aware of her own failures as she was; she should have been more cautious about refilling her cup at the ball, she should have ejected Mr Darcy from her room upon his entrance and, of course, never should have allowed him the liberties he had gratefully accepted from her. To her own mind, intoxication seemed like a paltry excuse for how terribly she had behaved.

"Very well," Mr Bennet eventually said. "You are excused. Inform your mother and Collins that I am not to be disturbed for any reason."

Elizabeth's head whipped up so that she might stare directly at her father, confounded by his lack of chastisement. He was facing away from her, his gaze cast out the window, and the exclamation she had been about to utter withered upon her lips. She stood, tears flooding her vision, and removed herself from Mr Bennet's study without saying anything else at all.

o0o

Elizabeth had expected that evening's dinner to be rife with strain considering the divisive nature of her engagement, but it had devolved into something both strange and horrible before any of them had taken a single bite of the first course. This was all owing to the ongoing dispute between her mother and Mr Collins.

Sometime mid-morning, their disagreement over Elizabeth's upcoming nuptials seemed to have settled into a stalemate as neither party, equal to the other in both ignorance and stubborn adherence to their own meager understanding, had been willing to compromise their views. This had resulted in sullen silence from Mr Collins – a welcome change, indeed – and many glares of violent disapprobation from that same quarter. Mrs Bennet, hardly more mature than her petulant adversary, had taken to simply ignoring her house guest to the point of denying his existence entirely and carrying on as if he were not present at all. She had chattered on and on about the wedding breakfast, lace and finery to all her daughters and praised Elizabeth excessively for being "so remarkably clever" to gain Mr Darcy's affections. Meanwhile, the portly gentleman had hovered in the background like a looming dark cloud of pious disapproval.

Poor Charlotte had come calling about tea time to discuss the merits of the Netherfield ball with her neighbors and waltzed right into the center of all this palpable tension within the household. Mrs Bennet had wasted not an instant before telling Charlotte the "happy, happy news" regarding her second eldest and Mr Darcy, earning Elizabeth a smug smile and a raised eyebrow. It was then that Elizabeth recalled her friend's theories about why Mr Darcy had been frequently caught staring at her these past months and she blushed before looking away.

Dear Charlotte, upon noticing the glowering Mr Collins seated by himself in the corner, had approached him with a cup of tea and then submitted herself to listening to his complaints about how mistreated he had been. To his credit, the clergyman seemed to be trying to whisper, but was apparently about as incapable of it as Mrs Bennet was and had thus offended half the room before Charlotte could change the subject to something more palatable to him (and them all). Thankfully, she had avoided mention of Lady Catherine, which likely would have sent him into another spiral of irritation at his "shameful Cousin Elizabeth" whom he was sure had taken Mr Darcy in somehow.

Mrs Bennet's steady silent treatment of Mr Collins had been rather strained during most of this interaction between Mr Collins and Charlotte, but she had calmed with the assistance of Jane and Elizabeth and the continuing subject of wedding plans. She was mightily disappointed that she would not have as many months to plan a grand event as she had hoped, but proud to have a daughter married before the new year and eager to accomplish as much as possible in the time she had been given. Elizabeth had rather expected Mrs Bennet to complain of ill usage when told how soon the wedding was to be scheduled for, but perhaps her elation over one of her progeny gaining a husband worth over _ten thousand a year_ had soothed the sting of this disappointment.

Charlotte, bless her thoughtful soul, had invited Mr Collins to dine with her family for the evening, but to everyone's disappointment he had politely declined.

"Your kindness and generosity is most appreciated, Miss Lucas," he had said, bowing deeply to her friend, "but I feel that my duty is to remain here until this unfortunate...situation is remedied. I feel called upon by my position as a clergyman, my fidelity to Lady Catherine de Bourgh and my relationship to this household to set right what has been put asunder. I thank you for your invitation, but I am afraid I must decline."

Indignant huffs and exasperated eye rolls were all the response he was to receive from his family, but Charlotte had accepted his excuse with grace.

Elizabeth had walked Charlotte out soon after, befuddled as to why her cousin had rejected an opportunity to remove himself from under their roof, at least temporarily, but nothing Mr Collins ever did made much sense to the sensible. She supposed that he was planning some new form of attack that he meant to unleash at an opportune moment, hence his continued presence, though what it could be other than further entreaties to have his way Elizabeth could not fathom.

Overall, it had been a relief to abscond upstairs with her sisters when it was time to change for dinner. That relief, however, had lasted only as long as it took to don a new gown and gather around the table with her family.

Mr Bennet had silently taken his seat at head of the table, her mother at the other end in more of a cheerful flurry, and the rest had seated themselves according to the usual manner. Mr Collins, naturally, had struggled a little between seating himself as far as he could from Elizabeth and doing likewise with Mrs Bennet, each of whom sat at different ends of the line. Eventually, he was forced to place himself, by lack of other option, between Mr Bennet the hated Elizabeth.

None of them had yet taken a sip of Cook's soup before Mr Collins had risen from his seat and coughed for their attention. Spoons lowered to dishes with varying degrees of delicacy as they all turned their eyes toward their pontificating cousin. "I find myself called upon by our relationship and my situation in life to rectify all manner of discord within my reach. In doing so, I am encouraged by Lady Catherine de Bourgh, my most noble and condescending patroness, who would surely approve of the actions I am undertaking on her behalf. As all of you know, my cousin Elizabeth, despite all claims of duty, honor and humility which should dissuade her from ever connecting herself above her station, has somehow engaged herself to one of the most illustrious personages in all the land. I ask that you all consider the great ramifications of allowing such a match to proceed before it goes beyond the reach of amendment and we are all injured by this folly. Mr Darcy has long been affianced, if not by his own word than by that of his noble aunt and the charming lady's own mother, to his cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh, and to put these two – whom I have been assured were formed for each other – asunder would be the most grievous of crimes, punishable by the Almighty upon Judgment Day."

Mr Collins paused in his soliloquy to cast his imperious eye around the table, fixing each of them in turn with its beady, judging pupil.

"I have, of course, after much careful thought and deliberation, determined a solution for these most grave circumstances. Cousin Elizabeth must relinquish all claim upon Mr Darcy as a husband, thus leaving him free to pursue Miss de Bourgh, his true wife, and retain the honor and dignity of his name. There can be no other result that would not be an abomination to Lady Catherine and to God and we must, as good, respectable Christians, bow to the inevitability of this situation."

"What _are_ you talking of, Mr Collins?" cried Mrs Bennet, surprisingly capable of waiting for the pompous man to finish his speech before speaking against him. Elizabeth supposed her offense at his tone and subject had kept her silent with disgust before now. "We would be ruined if Lizzy broke her engagement! And I see no reason why she should give way to Miss de Bourgh, or anybody else, for _Mr Darcy_ certainly thinks our Lizzy is grand enough for him. Lady Catherine's daughter is none of our concern, I am sure."

Mr Collins smiled at his hostess in that slimy, condescending way he had apparently perfected. "My dear Mrs Bennet," said he in similar tones, "there is no other way. Cousin Elizabeth has made her bed and now must lie in it, however injurious it is to all the rest of her family. However," and he paused here to puff out his chest, "I would be willing to marry her myself – assuming Lady Catherine approves after hearing of her willful and improper behavior."

So his grand scheme had been to renew his rejected proposal? Not only was he intolerably stupid, but he lacked imagination. Was this the nonsense Mr Collins had rejected Charlotte's dinner invitation to unleash on his relations, already impatient as they were with his complaints? Elizabeth desperately wished for dinner to be over so that she might retreat upstairs to bed before anything else could upset her equilibrium today.

Mr Bennet's amusement was writ upon his face again, though it was a more bitter kind than Elizabeth was used to seeing there. "We, ah, thank you for your generosity, Mr Collins, but I believe we shall carry on as we were before. Lizzy will marry Mr Darcy and Lady Catherine will simply have to bear the disappointment, as I have already said."

Elizabeth looked between her parents and their guest, her entire body seized with mortification, offense, anger and shame. Before, she had only concerned herself with how Mr Darcy would accept her relations, never once considering how reviled she might be by _his_. Though she could bear the deprivation of the good opinion of such a woman as Lady Catherine, someone wholly unconnected to herself, – at least for the present moment – it troubled her to realize that their marriage would split apart not only her own family but his, as well. Even considering her own precarious situation as a fallen woman, was it worth it to proceed with this union in the face of all this strife?

Quite unbidden, Mr Darcy's face rose to the surface of her mind and loomed before her, his stormy gray eyes softened with despair. Elizabeth swallowed against the lump in her throat, knowing that she could not end their understanding; his words and actions of affection could not be thrown away like refuse.

As Mr Collins continued to argue his point with a laconically unconcerned Mr Bennet and the increasingly hysterical lady of the house, Elizabeth stood and commanded the attention of all. "I understand your concern, Mr Collins," she said, speaking loudly above the din caused by others, "but I am afraid that I cannot accommodate your request. As my father and mother have both stated, my betrothal to Mr Darcy will continue to stand, regardless of your opinion or that of Lady Catherine. I am sorry to cause inconvenience to anyone, but it was unconsciously done and I hope will be of short duration."

"But, Cousin Elizabeth – "

"We have all made our opinions on this subject clear, sir," interrupted Elizabeth, her hands beginning to shake. "Furthermore, I have already refused your offer more than once and in as many ways as I know how; additional requests for my hand will be met with the same answer as all the others before them. I will not marry you, Mr Collins, now or ever and cannot possibly make my answer more explicit than that, and I beg that you would desist with your entreaties on the matter."

Mr Collins, finally, fell silent, staring at her with his eyes protruding in a way which looked most painful and his mouth gaping open. He looked like a fish surprised to be outsmarted by a fisherman.

All other eyes around the table were fixed upon her, some with humor, others with sympathy or even pride, but the only pair she felt were those of her father which regarded her with a painful antipathy. She pushed her chair back, muttering "I beg you would excuse me" and left the room to retire to her bedchamber.

Behind her, she could hear Mr Collins, who had apparently recovered from Elizabeth's set down, squawking, "I will write to Lady Catherine about this travesty and she shall be most displeased – "

o0o

A couple hours later, Elizabeth lay upon her bed in her nightrail and contemplated the events of the day. She had never experienced such a short period filled with so many opposing emotions; from uncertainty in regards to her future to shy acceptance of a man's offer of marriage to the stony disappointment of her father to the acrimonious scolding of her imbecile of a cousin it had been more than a single day's worth of conflict. She had never once imagined that not only would she be married in infamy, but also that she would tear her family apart in the process.

And yet, she could not repine accepting Mr Darcy, who seemed so earnestly in love with her that it was causing a revolution in her own feelings toward him. She had thought only this morning that he despised her, considered her beneath him in every conceivable way (including the carnal, as it turned out), yet she had been more than simply wrong about that. He had, apparently, been pining after her all this time without her noticing at all. Such sweet devotion must be rewarded with her hand.

She most certainly could not say that she returned this devotion with her own tender feelings, but it did not seem such a laughable impossibility now that she was beginning to understand him better. He was shy and easily frustrated in company, accounting for his cold words about her suitability as a dance partner at their first meeting. He suffered as much from his own pride as anyone else did, explaining why he could stare at her longingly and yet show no other signs of admiration until his hand was forced by circumstance. He was also incurably moral, loyal, discreet, honorable, painfully honest and confident in his ability to provide her with every happiness. Once her prejudice against him over his slight from the assembly and Mr Wickham's poisonous slander had been wiped away, Mr Darcy was revealed to be a good sort of man. The sort of man she could conceivably fall in love with, given enough time.

And though she knew it was more than just unladylike, it was purely _sinful_, to dwell upon, she could not forget the heat of his fingertips upon her skin or the salty tang of his sweat as she kissed his jaw. Some of her memory was tainted by the haze of alcohol, but there was more than enough clarity to recall how the firelight had glowed upon his broad shoulders as he'd hovered above her, how his lips and tongue had rasped against her throat to create the most tantalizing sensation and how, despite his own inebriation, he had visibly restrained himself from hurting her as he'd slid into her depths. She shivered and clenched her thighs together as memory of more pleasure, this originating from deep within and stimulated by her lover's vigorous prowess, rose from the depths of her mind.

Recalling all of these moments, separately and together, was beginning to have a stimulating effect on Elizabeth, one that felt familiar since her interlude with Mr Darcy – _Fitzwilliam_. She should make more of an effort to think of him by his Christian name now that they were to be married and had already shared the intimacy of a wedded couple.

Elizabeth's breathing began to quicken as she reflected upon _Fitzwilliam's_ nude form, one she had only seen in the dim glow of the firelight but which had made the impression of being tall, lean and powerful. It was clear to her that, rather than his tailor taking liberties with his silhouette, Fitzwilliam was everything as advertised beneath his clothing. She had seen nude statues before in museums, but the cold marble was nothing to what had been rendered by God in human flesh. And his manhood, the most masculine part of him, had stood as proud as he had, ready to ravish her upon the floor had she not scrambled up upon the mattress and led him thither also.

Now Elizabeth was beginning to grow quite warm and threw the coverlet and counterpane from her body. The chill late November air that was not kept at bay by the dying fire in her small hearth stung her exposed legs, but felt blissfully cool upon her overheated skin. She knew that the building ache within her, however, would require more than the shifting about of fabric to soothe. What she truly needed was Fitzwilliam to perform whatever miracle it was that he had wrought that first night together, but he was at Netherfield and it was impossible for either of them to sneak into the other's bedchamber this night. Perhaps she could approximate the motions of his fingers...

Just as Elizabeth began to pull up her shift, the fine muslin whispering against the skin of her thighs, there was a knock at the door. Quickly, she replaced her clothing back into its proper position and, for good measure, pulled the discarded blankets back over her lower half. She entreated the visitor to enter, her voice strained in a croak, "Come in."

The door slowly opened and her sister Jane peered through the crack between itself and the frame. "Lizzy? Are you sleeping?"

Elizabeth laughed, a nervous titter more familiar to one of her younger sisters, and teased, "If that were the case, dearest, I should not have beckoned you to enter."

Jane swept into the room in a quiet flurry of white muslin and closed the portal behind her. "You know very well my meaning, Lizzy."

"Indeed, I do. No, you have not interrupted my rest," reassured Elizabeth, drawing her legs up so that she might wrap her arms around them, bed coverings and all. "I suppose you have come to condole with me over the upheaval I have caused."

Jane smiled in that sweet, soft way of hers as she sat upon the foot of Elizabeth's bed. Placing one of her hands upon her younger sister's covered foot, a tactile gesture of comfort, she said, "Something of that nature. I have come to see if you were well; you left so suddenly at dinner, and without even eating anything, that I worried."

"I am well," said Elizabeth, a touch disingenuously. Upon seeing the slight raising of her sister's eyebrow, she chuckled and amended, "As well as I can possibly be under the circumstances. I confess I had no notion of what would happen if I accepted Fitz – that is, _Mr Darcy's_ suit this morning when I woke. I was most determined to refuse him instead of allowing him to fall upon his sword for a woman he – well, I _thought_ he detested. And now we are engaged and a strife I had not anticipated has settled over our family. Oh, Jane, what am I to do?"

"I must admit that I am a little...," Jane paused as if searching for the least offensive term for her consternation before continuing, "confused as to how all of this came about. The last I was aware, you detested Mr Darcy yourself and had no intention of speaking kindly to him, much less agreeing to marry him. What changed?"

Here, Elizabeth hesitated, conflicted as to whether or not she should tell her beloved, perfect elder sister about her terrible mistake. As much as she had previously reveled in the memory of the sensations Fitzwilliam had caused within her, guilt still nibbled at her conscience over what she had done. This was compounded by her lie by omission to Jane herself the morning after the ball when she had allowed her sister to believe that the blood upon her sheets was evidence of her courses and not her ruined virtue.

Jane waited patiently for Elizabeth to come to her decision, which she finally did after a deep, tremulous breath. "It all started the night of the ball. Do you recall me having some doubts about Mr Wickham's story?"

Jane's brow furrowed as if she could not quite connect this statement to the topic at hand, but nodded. "Yes, I recall."

"Well, this came about because Mr Darcy gave me something of a scolding after our dance, during which I had all but accused him of cruelty toward Mr Wickham."

"Lizzy!" Jane's voice was not quite scandalized, but it was as admonishing as she could produce.

Elizabeth grinned wryly at her sister. "I am afraid that the story gets much worse from there, dearest. After we had spoken on the subject, I refreshed myself at the punch bowl – too liberally, as it turns out, thanks to the intervention of Mr Hurst."

"I am sure he did not mean to cause so much trouble."

"I am sure he did not," agreed Elizabeth indulgently. "However, by the time dinner came about I was rather unsteady on my feet and, as you know, had to be assisted upstairs to rest as a result. Do you recall Mr Darcy asking after my well being at the base of the stairs?"

Jane nodded. "Oh yes, it was very kind of him to inquire after your health. I thought so at the time."

"Yes, well, later on that night he...," Elizabeth hesitated again, the words growing thick in her throat and coating her tongue with heaviness, but she pushed herself to carry on. "He visited me in my room. To check on me."

Jane's eyes grew round and wide as her free hand flew up to her mouth. She was practically incapable of rebuking anyone, but her expression was clearly aghast at what Elizabeth was divulging. "So then...did someone see you? Is that why you feel you must marry?"

Elizabeth grimaced and diverted her gaze to her hands, which picked at the coverlet upon her knees. "No, we were alone and, as far as I know, no one besides myself, Mr Darcy, Papa and you are aware that he visited me that night at all. It is much worse than simply being caught in a misunderstood and compromising situation. We...that is, he and I..." she stuttered to a stop, her face flushed a bright red out of a mixture of embarrassment and shame.

Jane's hand upon her foot rose to clasp Elizabeth's fidgeting fingers. "Did he force himself upon you?"

Elizabeth looked up at her sister, startled that Jane could ever think such a thing about anyone. "No! No, of course not. Why must everyone assume that Fitzwilliam is an ogre who forced his attentions on me? Papa said much the same thing and it is just not so. I am not proud of what happened, but I was a willing participant and bear my share of the blame."

Jane's expression melted into one of contrite sympathy. "I am sorry, Lizzy, but I simply never thought that you would...well..."

"I know, and neither did I," admitted Elizabeth, a touch of bitterness coloring her tone, "but that is exactly how it happened. I am sure that the spirits played a part, but I had never imagined myself as the type of girl who would give up her virtue to some man she barely knew who had wandered drunkenly into her bedroom in the middle of the night. I am thoroughly disgusted with myself."

"Mr Darcy was intoxicated, as well?" Jane probed.

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, apparently so. I do not know if he partook of too much of Mr Hurst's doctored punch or if he imbibed elsewhere, but we were both rather inebriated at the time. I am sure that had it not been the case for both of us, we would not be engaged right now."

"And how do you feel about that?" Jane asked. "Being engaged to him, I mean."

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders once. "I am still sorting out my feelings, but I am coming to terms with it. Fitzwilliam has proven himself to be an honorable man in this situation and that cannot be discounted. Moreover, the history that Mr Wickham provided to me has turned out to be patently false, so I no longer believe him capable of atrocities."

"But will you be happy with him, Lizzy?" her elder sister asked, soothing concern seeping from her tone.

Again, Elizabeth shrugged. "Perhaps it is like Charlotte says and happiness in marriage is merely a matter of chance. As I have said, this situation has proven Fitzwilliam to be more honorable than I have ever given him credit for before now and that says much about his character. I even gave him an opportunity to cry off, but he begged me to reconsider."

Jane looked nearly as surprised as she had when Elizabeth had revealed her assignation with Fitzwilliam. "He _begged_ you?"

Elizabeth could feel a slow, pleased smile creeping across her face and buried it beneath the crossed arms perched upon her knees. "Yes. He says that he loves me."

Had Jane not been properly seated upon the mattress, Elizabeth was sure that she would have fallen to the floor. "He loves you!"

"Apparently so," replied Elizabeth with some mirth.

"I apologize, Lizzy," said Jane after a moment of collecting herself, "it is really not so astounding because you are everything lovely, but Mr Darcy has always been so reticent in company! Who could know that he was hiding a tendre for you all this time?"

"Charlotte, apparently," said Elizabeth. "She once told me that she thought Fitzwilliam looked at me a great deal and speculated about why that should be. I told her in return that she was being absurd. Now, of course, I must live with her smugness for the rest of my life."

The two sisters laughed at Elizabeth's quip for some minutes before calming. Jane then pressed on, "But Lizzy, how do _you_ feel about Mr Darcy? I can see that your opinion of him has been improving, but surely you cannot be in love with him as he is with you."

"No," admitted Elizabeth, guilt churning in her stomach once more. "I cannot say that I am, but I think...I _hope_ that might change in the future. Fitzwilliam is already improving upon closer acquaintance and all within the space of a single day!"

A small knowing smile sprouted upon Jane's face as she pointed out, "I notice that you already refer to him by his Christian name. You have done so almost exclusively since we began this conversation."

Had she?

"Have I?" Elizabeth genuinely hadn't noticed how easily she had slipped into referring to Fitzwilliam – Mr Darcy – so informally.

"Yes," replied Jane, her head tilting slightly to one side as both of her eyebrows rose, "ever since you defended him against my supposition that he might have forced his attentions upon you."

"I had not realized...," admitted the younger sister, feeling a blush creep into her face.

Jane squeezed Elizabeth's hand and consoled her, "It is nothing to be ashamed of, dearest. He is your betrothed and, I assume, has given you permission to do so," Elizabeth nodded at Jane's conjecture. "Also, I feel that it signifies a warming in your regard toward him which must be a good thing in relation to your future together. It is wonderful that you are beginning to feel more comfortable with the idea of him as your husband. Perhaps you even feel some affection for him already?"

Elizabeth could not answer this, but her heart fluttered a little in her chest at the suggestion.

"Well, no matter, I am sure that it will all turn out well," said Jane, her eternal optimism shining through.

They sat together in mutual silence for a short period before Jane again ventured to speak, this time in more halting tones. "Lizzy..."

Elizabeth waited for her sister to continue her thought for a few extended seconds before prompting, "Yes?"

Jane's eyes were downcast and her cheeks flush as she asked, "What is it like?"

"'It'?" Elizabeth repeated, though she didn't really require clarification. There could only be one 'it' to which her sister referred in the present context.

"You know..._it_," replied her elder sister, gesticulating in no decipherable manner with her hands. "Congress between a man and a woman. What was it like?"

Had any other asked her this, Elizabeth would have refused to answer simply on principle. Not only was it a highly personal and invasive query, but the explanation was as elusive as it was awkward. However, the requester of information being her dearest sister, Elizabeth huffed out a breath and attempted to describe what she, herself, understood imperfectly. "It was...uncomfortable at times and very hot."

"So you did not enjoy it?" Jane surmised.

Elizabeth shook her head in the negative. "No – rather, yes, I did enjoy it, but it is difficult to describe. It was strange, yet also...magnificent. I felt things I had never thought possible before." A flood of memory washed over her and images, flashes only, invaded her mind of the naked, virile Mr Darcy giving her body pleasure. She clenched her thighs together tightly as her womanhood spasmed in response.

Jane hesitated a moment before asking her next question. "Was it painful?"

"Only slightly the first time," replied Elizabeth, still a touch lost in her recollections.

"'The first time'?" Now Jane sounded rather alarmed. "You have been with him more than once?"

Elizabeth sat up straighter and immediately denied, "No! Of course not. I meant...we joined more than once that night. The first time there was a little discomfort, but by the next...well, let's just say I understand now why the vicar is always preaching against being led astray by this particular sin."

"It can occur multiple times?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I honestly cannot tell you if this was a normal experience or not, having never been with a man before, but Fitzwilliam was up to the challenge."

"I...see," said Jane, her eyes blinking rapidly as she apparently attempted to process this new knowledge.

Silence grew between them again, this time heavier with their weighty thoughts.

The elder sister broke the quiet by announcing, in a more cheerful tone which lightened the mood, "Now, it is time for bed, I think."

Jane slid gracefully from the mattress and back onto her feet and Elizabeth threw back her covers so that she might do the same. The younger followed the elder to the door and hugged her sibling. "You are the best sister," Elizabeth praised, genuinely.

"No, I must disagree," said Jane, pulling out of their embrace, "for the best sister is _you_."

Elizabeth laughed as she reached for the doorknob. "I believe we shall simply have to agree to disagree."

"Perhaps that is best."

As the door swung open to admit the pair into the corridor, the sound of heavy, shuffling footsteps called Elizabeth's attention. She stepped around Jane to investigate and saw the hem of a man's nightshirt whip out of sight into the guest chamber assigned to their cousin before his own portal closed with a snap.

Elizabeth looked to Jane, who exchanged a wary glance with her younger sister. What had Mr Collins heard?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Ah, poor Elizabeth...I know it seems like I demonize Mr Bennet a lot, but it's really because, when you think about it, he's the only LEGIT obstacle that could prevent ODC from marrying one another (at least for awhile). If he says NO, they gotta wait it out until Lizzy hits her majority, hence his role as an antagonist. Plus, I've always thought that Elizabeth's disappointment in her father was one of the things that hurt her most in the original novel since she's his favorite and she hates being forced to admit his faults. Anyway, I won't be casting Mr Bennet in this role a lot (unlike Collins) it just so happens that the stories I'm currently posting require it. I like the sardonic bastard, in spite of his failings as a parent. Anyway...

This chapter was more difficult for me to write primarily because it's several scenes kinda/sorta glued together rather than one or two long ones. Still, necessary plot stuff happened, so...seven chapters down, only seven more to go (including epilogue). Halfway point! Woot!

Also, I was unpacking/rearranging stuff in my new house and very nearly forgot to post this (oops), so please forgive any mistakes I didn't catch; I normally pick through my chapters one last time on posting day or the day before but, obviously, didn't get to it this week.

Hope you had a Merry Christmas, are currently having a Happy Chanukah and will have an excellent New Year!

**Next Update:** January 10, 2020 (See y'all next year...)  
**Expected Completion Date:** February 21, 2020

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	8. Chapter Eight: Forced Him to Say

**Title: **Under the Influence  
**Rating:** M – for sexual situations just this side of explicit.  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting: **Regency

**Summary:** A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"He then went away, and Miss Bingley was left to all the satisfaction of having forced him to say what gave no one any pain but herself."

– _Pride and Prejudice_ Volume III, Chapter 45

* * *

_**Chapter Eight:** Forced Him to Say  
_Darcy

_Saturday November 30, 1811_

Two days later, at the very end of November, Bingley was finally due to return to Netherfield. Darcy awaited him with some anticipation as he was eager to tell _someone_ of his engagement. He had written to his sister, of course, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, but they had yet had time to respond and so he had received no congratulations aside from those at the Bennet household, which were an odd mixture of overly exuberant and grudging. He had kept the news away from all parties he currently shared abode with as there was little reason to believe that any of them would be particularly pleased to hear it. He also believed them incapable of being gracious about his new situation if he should have a lapse of madness and tell them.

Added to his nervous anxiety was the fact that he had not seen Elizabeth since her father had (reluctantly) given his consent to the match, nearly two full days ago. His beloved had sent him a short note that same evening which had placed all his plans for a proper courtship on hold.

_Fitzwilliam,_

_ As you can see, I have done my best to adopt the habit of referring to you by your Christian name, as promised. We must both hope that this amenable mindset in regards to your wishes will continue once we are man and wife, though I caution you that I can make no promises of the kind._

Darcy had smiled at the sweet archness of this statement before allowing his eyes to travel further down the page.

_I write to you to request that you __not__ visit Longbourn on the morrow as our household is in something of an uproar over recent events and I would spare you – and myself – from additional upheaval. I am certain that all will calm eventually, though I suggest you limit your personal attendance whilst my cousin is still in residence. He is not a fearsome man, so do not concern yourself with my safety, but rather a persistently loquacious one; he has yet to stop scolding me, my parents and everyone else within hearing over my acceptance of your hand and I suspect he will continue to do so until he is required to return to Kent. Monday cannot come soon enough._

As he read this paragraph, Darcy felt his stomach clench with familiar anxiety; did she warn him away for the reasons she had listed, or because she still could not stand the sight of him?

_ Please know that, despite some of our past misunderstandings, it is not your presence that I object to but the furor that has been caused by our pending nuptials. I can honestly say that I had no idea our match would be so hotly debated amongst my family, even in relation to the circumstances, but I suppose it should not surprise me as much as it does. Mr Collins, as you know, owes his patronage to your aunt and venerates her more than he ought so his offense on her behalf, to his mind, is understandable and reasonable. I wonder, though, that he has not yet considered that our marriage will bring him closer to his patroness; they shall be family, after all. Once he has, I am certain that we will earn his approval._

_ In the meantime, I make the presumption of thanking you in advance for abstaining from paying visits. Once my cousin has left us on Monday, I look forward to seeing you again. Perhaps, if we are very lucky, we might even have the chance to speak two sentences to one another without interruption from my mother or one of my nosy sisters (I would not count upon it, however)._

_ Yours,_

_ Elizabeth_

_PS: My father has arranged for the banns to be read for the first time this coming Sunday, December the first. I suggest a wedding date of the twenty-sixth since my aunt and uncle from London will still be in residence here at Longbourn and I wish them to be at the ceremony. Please inform me if this is agreeable to you._

Though the overall message had been disappointing to Darcy, her closing statements and adieu gave him a flutter of hope that she was more reconciled to their union than he had dared to believe. He would not call this missive a love letter by any means, but there was a joviality about it, a sportive manner, which was encouraging. From his observations of her, he knew that she frequently teased those she felt an affinity for and he hoped that these words, penned in her cheerfully elegant hand, showed that her opinion of him had improved.

Still, he longed to see his bride-to-be and counted every excruciatingly long hour before he would be fortunate enough to reunite with her at church upon the morrow. At least there he could not be kept away and, as added incentive, he would have the very great pleasure of hearing their banns read for the first time. Regardless, the anticipation was painful.

And so Darcy struggled to contain his excitement over his betrothal lest he be forced to listen to Miss Bingley harangue him over his choice for the duration of his visit. She would surely know tomorrow – if she bothered to go to services, which she often did not – or soon after, but Darcy was almost equally eager to keep her in ignorance for as long as possible.

But Bingley would be more than simply supportive of Darcy's engagement to Elizabeth – he would be overjoyed, as any true friend would be. Possibly more so because Bingley had his own hopes for the eldest Bennet daughter and Darcy's implicit sanction of that family would go a long way in convincing his sisters and society of the match. Indeed, Darcy was expecting a comrade in arms in his friend and could not wait to share his good fortune.

As Bingley stepped from his carriage, Darcy was there to greet him at the top of the steps. His sisters had determined the weather too frosty for their tastes and Hurst was somewhere unknown, but Darcy was too impatient to wait in a heated parlor. Bingley greeted him jovially and announced his surprise at seeing him outside on such a blustery day. "Darcy! I can see that I have been missed. Tell me, has Caroline been so very impossible while I was away?"

Darcy chuckled and slapped his friend upon the shoulder, which was returned to him in like manner by Bingley. "I cannot be politic in any answer I offer so I shall decline to give one. Actually, I have some news."

"News?" repeated Bingley as they breached the entrance hall.

"Yes, and I shall tell you once we can speak in private," said Darcy, waiting patiently as his friend handed the layers of his outerwear to a small team of servants who had arrived in the vestibule for just such a purpose.

Bingley cringed. "It is not about the estate, is it? Has something happened?"

"No, no, my friend, it is good news of a personal nature," Darcy reassured him as the last of Bingley's things were absconded with and they began their journey down the corridor toward the master's study. "I simply do not wish to share it with all and sundry just yet." He darted a significant look in his friend's direction.

"You mean that you don't wish my sisters to know?" Bingley surmised with a guffaw. Darcy's grimace was all the confirmation required and the younger man laughed again.

"Let us say I prefer to keep this matter private for the time being, though I suppose it will be common knowledge soon enough," replied Darcy diplomatically. "In any case, I believe you shall congratulate me."

"Why? Are you to be married?" Bingley guessed in a tone that suggested he did not believe any such thing.

Darcy said nothing and proceeded down the hall in silence, a wry grin inching across his cheeks.

Bingley confessed himself intrigued as he opened the door to his study and waved his unusually animated friend inside. Once the portal was closed to the hallway and their privacy assured, Bingley crossed the carpeted floor to a pair of leather armchairs by the fire. "Alright, out with it! What is it that has you in such high spirits?"

Darcy followed his friend a pace behind and claimed his usual seat, sinking down into the plush leather. It squeaked slightly as he shifted to cross his legs. "As you have already guessed, I am to be married," he announced plainly.

Bingley, who had been about to descend into his own chair, nearly missed his target and fell to the floor. He maintained his balance only barely. "Married? To whom?"

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Bingley stood up to his full height, his face florid with anger as he snapped, "Miss Bennet? My angel?"

Darcy did not deign to alter his placid expression over his friend's poor hearing. "I believe I said Miss _Elizabeth_ Bennet, Bingley. I have no designs on your 'angel.'"

"Oh." The patchy redness in Bingley's cheeks fused together into a smoother flush of embarrassment. "So you did. I apologize."

"Not at all," Darcy forgave immediately, "but if your sister is right about one thing, it is your inability to pay attention to details."

"Yes, well...how did this come about, Darcy? I thought you did not even like Miss Elizabeth!" cried Bingley, finally plopping himself upon the cushion of his selected chair across from Darcy. He kicked his shoes off and pointed his stocking feet in the direction of the fire to warm his flexing toes.

Darcy bit back an irritable remark. "Why does everyone have the impression that I dislike Elizabeth? I have shown her more attention than any other lady of my acquaintance!"

"That is true enough," admitted Bingley, slouching down in his seat and lacing his fingers over his stomach, "but you and Miss Elizabeth are not known for having the easiest of acquaintances with one another. Why, the very first time you saw her – before you were properly introduced, even! – you declared her 'not handsome enough' to dance with, or some such. After that, you seemed to argue with her more often than not when you met. I thought she disliked you as much as you did her, quite frankly."

Darcy turned his head so that he could stare into the fire as the shame he had felt when Elizabeth herself had accused him of the same prideful indifference rose within his chest. He was quiet for a few extended seconds as he repressed the self loathing that came with it. "Yes, Elizabeth said as much to me when I proposed to her."

Bingley emitted a raspy laugh, one that conveyed embarrassment rather than humor. "That does sound like Miss Elizabeth. She was never afraid to speak her mind with you."

"And that is one of the many things I admire about her," said Darcy, turning his gaze back to Bingley. "She did not defer to my opinions or flatter me incessantly – "

"Like my sister does," interjected Bingley with a grim smile.

Darcy shrugged; he could not deny it, though he hoped to avoid insulting Miss Bingley directly. "I appreciate Elizabeth's candor. There are not many _men _who will tell me what I need to hear, much less marriageable young women. She is very genuine."

"I agree, she is," said Bingley, "but I still had no notion that you so much as liked her, much less wished to marry her. I had thought she and her family so far beneath you that you would not desire the connection, so what made you decide to offer for her?"

A flash of Elizabeth writhing beneath him, eyes languid with pleasure and skin flush from exertion, rose to the surface of his mind and he was forced to tamp down the image before he humiliated himself. He squirmed a bit in his seat, coughed and then finally answered, "I decided I could not be happy without her. I can afford to marry without consideration to money and so chose to follow my inclination rather than what society expects of me."

Bingley raised both his eyebrows at Darcy and prodded, "And her family?"

Darcy shrugged again, once more eager to withhold his more candid opinions. He settled for, "They are not quite what I would wish, but Elizabeth is too great a prize to throw away because of a few unfortunate relations. Besides, they are not so bad as I first thought, once you become used to their...exuberance."

Bingley guffawed at Darcy's understatement. "'Exuberance'? Oh, yes, they are that and more!"

"I thought you were fond of the Bennets," Darcy accused.

"I am," agreed Bingley placidly, "but I will not deny that they can occasionally be improper. Still, as you said, having them as in-laws is a small price to pay for marrying one of the sisters. I am not afraid of taking them on as relations, but are you reconciled to it?"

"Yes, of course," said Darcy, a little tersely. He had not expected Bingley, of all people, to question his engagement in this way. "Do you have any further objections to my plans for my future happiness?"

"I have stated no objections. I am merely confused as to how this all came about! Once more, I had thought you and Miss Elizabeth grudging acquaintances and her place in society too low for you. You have certainly been no friend to my attentions toward her elder sister."

"I have said no such thing," Darcy denied, though it had been the truth only days ago.

"You did not have to," Bingley countered, "but now, I suppose, I have your blessing?"

Darcy frowned at his friend and then covered it with his hand. "Do you require it?" he asked, a tinge of irritation coloring his tone.

"No, but I should like to have it all the same." Bingley sat up to lean forward, his expression hopeful, yet guarded.

Darcy sighed and dropped his hand back into his lap, exasperated. "It would be rather hypocritical for me to object to your intentions toward Miss Bennet, therefore you may have my approbation if you truly wish it. I can hardly fault you for your taste when mine, clearly, is similar."

Bingley practically bounced upon his cushion and the leather squealed in protest. "Excellent, excellent."

"Are you preparing to propose?" Darcy would not mind the thought of Bingley as a brother, though he would admit to reservations about a closer connection to his sisters. However, much like with the Bennets, it would simply be something he would have to learn to tolerate.

Bingley shrugged his own shoulders this time and fell back against the back of his chair. "Not yet, my friend, but if the lady continues to give me such encouragement, how can I resist?"

Darcy had never seen much sign of this 'encouragement' Bingley spoke of from Miss Jane Bennet, but he had hardly paid much attention to the dull, albeit pretty, sister of his beloved. He had meant to take stock of the outward appearance of her favor toward his friend at the ball, but his disagreement with Elizabeth had driven him to the library before he had found the opportunity to do so. Then, of course, events unfolded in a most unexpected way and it had slipped his mind entirely since. Considering his misinterpretation of Elizabeth's feelings for himself, Darcy also rather doubted that his intended survey would have been either definitive or accurate in any case.

"Very well," said Darcy, a hint of warning in his voice, "but I ask that you consider whether your feelings for Miss Bennet are of the lasting sort before you commit yourself to courting her. It has been my impression that your behavior toward her has given rise to a general expectation throughout the neighborhood that a proposal is imminent, and so I ask you to tread lightly in regards to her feelings and reputation. She is to be my sister soon, as you know, and I will not have anyone trifle with her."

"Trifle with her?" exclaimed Bingley, his voice husky with offense. "I have never trifled with her!"

"Perhaps not," agreed Darcy, "but I have seen you in love before."

Bingley flushed and averted his gaze away from Darcy's. "That was different. Mere infatuation, nothing like what I feel for J – Miss Bennet."

"Very well. Just so we understand each other."

The two men sat in relative silence for a few minutes listening to the intermittent crackle of the fire and the whistle of wind against the windowpane.

At length, Bingley coughed and broke the spell of quiet between them. "Well, since I have not yet said it, congratulations old man. Miss Elizabeth is a fine woman and will make you an admirable wife."

Darcy felt the mood of the room lighten instantly and the corners of his lips tilt upward in a smile. This was more what he had expected from his old friend upon announcing his engagement. "Thank you. I am confident that Elizabeth and I will get on very well together, in spite of our somewhat turbulent beginning. She is everything I could have ever asked for in a wife."

"You are truly in love with her." Bingley stared at Darcy, his head tilted to one side and eyebrows lifted at a bemused angle. He then straightened and grinned widely. "I never thought I would see the great Fitzwilliam Darcy in love! As much as you have teased me for my infatuations over the years, I feel as if I should return the favor somehow."

Darcy rolled his eyes and did not deign to respond, but took his friend's jibe with good humor. Thanks to Elizabeth, he was learning to laugh at himself somewhat.

"I will be sure to do so whenever the opportunity arises in the future. In the meantime," Bingley continued, his brows waggling with enthusiastic suggestion, "shall we pay a visit to Longbourn?"

Darcy, remembering the contents of Elizabeth's letter, at first intended to demur, but his longing to see his bride was strong and he struggled to reason himself out of it. Eventually, he caved to the impulse and stood from his seat, proclaiming, "I shall go upstairs and change. Meet in the entrance hall in fifteen minutes?"

"Ten!"

o0o

Thirty minutes later, Darcy was pulling his fingers into his riding gloves and still waiting for Bingley to descend the staircase. One of his friend's more irritating flaws was his repeated infractions against timeliness, something which appeared to be incurable. Bingley always expected to be done quickly with any task and, were he to focus upon it to the exclusion of all else, he might be successful at doing so. However, he was easily distracted and could not keep to a schedule, or even a single undertaking, without finding something else to call away his attention in the middle of it. This tendency used to annoy Darcy fiercely, but he was so used to this peccadillo now that he routinely staggered his own arrival and departure times to accommodate Bingley's tardiness. When Darcy had suggested a fifteen minute excursion to change, he had secretly intended to be in the entrance hall in twenty-five, thus padding the expected time frame for Bingley's late arrival to coincide more closely with when he could realistically be expected.

Darcy calmly accepted his outerwear from the butler as he awaited his friend, impatient only see his future wife. He hoped that Elizabeth would not be too angry with him for violating her injunction against visiting, but, if she were, Bingley would likely lighten the offense. He had a way of being so endearingly foppish that none could stay angry at him, which was perhaps why Darcy had learned to tolerate his repeated tardiness over the years. If Bingley took the blame upon himself for the call upon the Bennets, surely Elizabeth would only shake her head and accept the invasion.

"Mr Darcy! Where have you been? We have been so desolate without your company."

Darcy squeezed his eyes shut, forcing them to stay in position rather than rolling upwards in an exasperated arc, as the shrill, unwelcome voice of Miss Bingley announced her presence behind him. Her slippers slapped against the marble floor as she approached and he drew in a breath, willing himself to be patient as he turned. "Miss Bingley," he greeted in his usual monotone.

She was upon him now, her hands outstretched to grasp his upper arm in that overly familiar way of hers. Her eyelashes fluttered like the wings of an excitable bird and Darcy distantly wondered if she had ever hurt herself batting them so forcefully. "Truly, sir, we have seen neither hide nor hair of you all day. Where have you been hiding yourself away? Come to the saloon for some refreshments."

"I am afraid I cannot, Miss Bingley, as I am just now heading out with your brother." Darcy was exceedingly happy to have a valid excuse to avoid her.

"Going out?" Miss Bingley repeated, leaning away from him slightly in apparent surprise. Darcy could never determine which of his hostess' emotions were genuine, or if any of them ever were. It should not shock her that he was preparing to leave the premises as his gloves and overcoat were already donned and the butler was waiting patiently to the side with his hat. Clearly, he was going out.

"Yes, indeed," replied Darcy with an even tone, exercising patience he did not feel. "Your brother and I are going to pay a visit."

Miss Bingley laughed, her pitch high and echoing around the entry hall. "A visit! To whom, pray tell? I had not thought any of these savages worthy of your society, sir. Do not tell me that you have grown fond of some of them."

Darcy first cast his glance toward the stairs and then at the time on his watch. Bingley's tendency toward lateness could still aggravate him when he found himself trapped in conversation with Miss Bingley, a most persistent social climber. "We are going to Longbourn."

Miss Bingley stiffened quite suddenly, her laughter dying with a squeak. "Longbourn! Do not tell me that Charles is going to pay court to Jane Bennet."

"I cannot say," said Darcy disingenuously; it was not an absolute lie for it was not appropriate to share his friend's confidences with another, particularly his meddling sister. Besides, as much as he abhorred deception of any kind, exceptions had to be made; to be completely open and honest with Miss Bingley and her ilk was a foolish notion, at best.

Her face crumpling into an unattractive scowl, Miss Bingley leaned closer to him to hiss in his ear, "I have been meaning to discuss this matter with you for some time, Mr Darcy. I think you can understand the..._concern_ we feel over Charles' attachment to a nobody like Jane Bennet. She is a sweet girl and very lovely in her way, I am sure, but not at all an appropriate candidate for his wife. And her family! Oh, you were not at dinner the other night, but I can assure you that they were positively _wild_. And then Miss Eliza was in her cups...I am sure Charles can do much better."

Darcy felt the sting of Miss Bingley's insult toward Elizabeth keenly and forced himself to resist the urge to give her a set down in return. Once he had swallowed the sharp words that had formed upon his tongue, he replied to her statement with an asperity that could not be misunderstood. "I must decline to involve myself in your brother's affairs."

Miss Bingley carried on as if she had not heard the venom in his tone – and, considering her continued pursuit of Darcy over years of facing his indifference, perhaps she had not. "But you must speak to him! My sister and I have tried to talk some sense into him and despaired of his listening to us at all. You are his friend and adviser; surely you could convince him where we have failed. Point out to him the evils of taking a wife such as Jane Bennet and he will accept the truth! He cannot tie himself to such an unsuitable family, I will not permit it!"

"To the contrary, Miss Bingley," Darcy replied, his words hissing through clenched teeth, "it is not my place to direct the way in which your brother is to be happy. If he decides that Miss Bennet will make an admirable wife, I shall do nothing to stop him. You might wish to acclimate yourself to the inevitability."

Darcy took a step backward, releasing his arm from Miss Bingley's clutches. He covered his jerky, impatient motion by turning and accepting his hat from the butler, who kept his eyes downcast as a faint smile twitched upon his lips.

The lady, if such she could be called, stared at him with wide eyes and a slackened jaw, entirely aghast at his declaration. "But – "

"Sorry I'm late, Darcy!" cried Bingley as he appeared on the landing at the top of the stairs. Moments later, his footsteps could be heard pattering against the marble as he made his descent. "I could not decide whether to wear the blue or – Caroline, what is the matter?"

Miss Bingley, clearly not wishing to divulge the contents of her contentious conversation with Darcy, snapped her mouth closed with a clack of teeth. Her lips were drawn into a disapproving pucker, forehead folded down in a scowl and her clawed hands grasping at each other as she visibly restrained herself from lashing out at her brother's cheerful interruption. She drew in a deep breath, her nostrils flaring large, before answering, "Nothing, Charles, I was simply inquiring of Mr Darcy where the two of you are headed."

"To Longbourn," Bingley answered as the butler helped him shrug into his own greatcoat. "Did you wish to join us? It is no trouble to order the carriage."

Miss Bingley's lips trembled slightly, perhaps trying to work themselves into a smile and failing. "No, I thank you. Will you be home for dinner?"

Bingley looked to the clock against the wall as he pulled on his gloves. "I am not sure, but do not hold the meal on our account if we are not arrived on time."

"Very well," said his sister, nose aloft.

"Come, Darcy, we do not want to be late! Polite visiting hours expire soon," prodded Bingley as he donned his hat, blithely ignoring the fact that he had been due downstairs nearly twenty minutes prior.

Darcy stifled a smirk and followed Bingley out the door to their waiting horses. He tipped his hat at Miss Bingley as they crossed the threshold.

o0o

"Oh! Mr Darcy, Mr Bingley!" cried Mrs Bennet as she and her daughters all rose to curtsy to the visiting gentlemen. "You are very welcome to Longbourn, the both of you! Would you care for some tea?"

Bingley voiced his pleasure at receiving some refreshment, but his eyes were trained upon the blushing visage of Miss Bennet across the room. His greetings to the matron of the household were rather distracted and, therefore, somewhat rude, but she did not seem to mind in the least bit. Far from being offended, Mrs Bennet watched the interaction between her eldest daughter and their newest neighbor with undeniable smugness.

Darcy skimmed over this interaction as his eyes sought out the form of his own beloved, anxious to both gaze upon her lovely face and assure himself that she was not too cross with him for visiting against her express wishes. Elizabeth was on the far side of the room, standing by her seat at the window and setting a book upon the sill as she waited for everyone to settle themselves. The wry smile on her face indicated that she acknowledged his infraction but was not angered by it. Darcy's shoulders relaxed in relief at the sight of her teasing scold.

He hesitated not an instant more in crossing the room, bowing to her and taking a seat in close proximity to hers. Elizabeth regained her chair, her eyebrow arched delicately in his direction, as her mother carried on in the background.

"I suppose you have heard the good news from your friend?"

"Oh, yes, Darcy has just told me this morning – "

"I cannot tell you how very pleased we all are!" carried on Mrs Bennet as if Bingley had not responded to her. "And you know, they say that one wedding brings on another..."

"Indeed. May I offer my most heartfelt congratulations? I am sure – "

"Thank you, yes! How fortunate my Lizzy is to have captured the eye of someone like Mr Darcy. So handsome, so noble! I am sure my Jane will not long be single, either."

"Yes, well..."

Elizabeth shook her head at the unfolding scene, her expression a mixture of amusement and mortification as she turned her full attention upon Darcy. "I am sorry for my mother, sir. She is very well pleased to have a daughter married."

"Not at all." Darcy was genuinely uncaring about Mrs Bennet's brash behavior when Elizabeth was before him to remind him how very much he was gaining in exchange for tolerating his future mother-in-law. "It is understandable. I can even appreciate her excitement to some degree as it is my engagement of which she speaks."

Elizabeth rewarded his gallantry with an arch smile and a tilt of her head. "Do not think that flattery will absolve you from disobeying my command, Mr Darcy. You were told not to visit until Monday and yet here you are on a Saturday! Explain yourself, sir."

Darcy, understanding the teasing nature of her words with no confusion, struggled to maintain his serious mien as he replied, "I have no excuse, madam, though I am tempted to place all the blame upon Bingley. I could claim that he dragged me here against my will, but that would be a lie."

A laugh escaped Elizabeth and her fine eyes glittered. "I suppose you came to see Mr Collins, then?"

Darcy grimaced at the mention of that odious toad and his beloved laughed again, a sound which expelled through her nose in an unladylike snort. She pressed her hand to her mouth, but otherwise showed no sign of shame for her mirth.

"Unfortunately," she said in a tone of mock gravity, "Mr Collins is dining with the Lucases today. I am sure he will be sorry to have missed your visit."

"And I am sorry to have missed him, I am sure," responded Darcy with some wryness. "I take it he fled from the constant talk of our wedding?"

"Well, that, and...he is now engaged to my good friend, Charlotte Lucas," Elizabeth announced. Her face was carefully neutral, though Darcy suspected that this news was not pleasing to her.

"I had not heard. I shall offer my congratulations when next I see either one of them."

"Indeed," Elizabeth agreed, then switched subjects quickly. "Since you have come all this way, I suppose I must entertain you myself."

Darcy's smile finally wrangled itself free of his self control and spread across his face. "A great pity, indeed."

"Do not worry yourself on my account, Mr Darcy," she assured him with such heavy solemnity that he was forced to laugh. When she reached across to pat him upon the hand in a gesture intended to be a jesting comfort, his chuckle caught in his throat. "I shall tolerate your company fairly well, I think."

"How...," Darcy paused to cough when his voice emerged from his throat strained. "How gracious of you to put up with me.

He looked down to where her hand still rested upon the back of his clenched fist and, after a moment of hesitation, boldly determined to spread his fingers and flip them over so that their palms might rest against each other. He closed his digits around hers and raised his eyes to her face to gauge her reaction.

Elizabeth made no struggle to remove herself from his keep, though her gaze remained fixed upon their joined hands for several long seconds before it ascended to meet his. Her cheeks were lightly pinked and her smile more sweet than wry as they exchanged eye contact with one another.

"I see we have guests."

Elizabeth startled and sat back in her chair, withdrawing her hand from his possession as her father made his presence known within the room. Darcy was a little stung by this defection, but the expression upon Mr Bennet's face amply explained why she had discontinued their contact; he was glaring upon them as if gravely offended by what he found in his parlor.

Elizabeth's smile was tight as she stood to welcome her father too the room; half a beat later, Darcy rose to do the same. Mr Bennet peered at them through his spectacles for a long moment, sniffed faintly and turned to go sit on the opposite side of the room beside the fire. He struck up a teasing conversation with Mary – "What have you got there, my dear? Will it give you any good extracts, do you think?" – and ignored all the rest.

As she sunk back into her chair, Darcy observed Elizabeth's face and found her expression to be one of mingled disappointment, exasperation and melancholy. It was not difficult to surmise that Mr Bennet had chosen to take his ire over the compromise out on Elizabeth, little though she deserved it. She had participated, of course, but she had been intoxicated and, therefore, less able to exert her reason to counter the baser impulses that all humans struggled to contain. Additionally, it was not as if she had come to his room to seduce him; _he_ had found _her_ that night before binding himself to her irrevocably. It was not a proud moment for either of them to have given into passion over morality, but it had happened and to disparage his daughter over it was irrational.

Of course, the nature of irrationality made it likely that Mr Bennet would not be convinced out of his anger, so they would likely have to wait for his grudge to run its course. Darcy hoped that his future father-in-law was not inclined to hold them for unreasonable lengths of time.

Darcy reached out to his beloved and reclaimed her hand, pulling it slightly toward him so that he might soothe her feelings with gentle touches. His thumb ran over the crests of her knuckles, touching each bony joint as his digit passed across them, and then reversed direction to do so again. Her attention was lured back to him by this soft caress and her fine eyes, which had been brimming with mirth only minutes before, were now shadowed with sadness.

"I am well, Fitzwilliam," she assured him softly, forcing her lips to turn upward into a semblance of a smile.

"Has he been like this since I left the other day?" Darcy asked, ignoring the little stutter in his heartbeat at the sound of his name upon her lips.

Elizabeth lowered her face to stare at their hands upon his lap. "Yes. He is very disappointed in me."

Darcy heaved a sigh as he silently castigated himself for putting her in this position. "I am sorry, Elizabeth. It is my fault – "

Her other hand upon his stilled the motion of his fingers upon her skin. She looked up, sincerity in her eyes, and assured him, "No, it is not. Not entirely, in any case. He is less angry about what you did than he is disappointed in my conduct. He had always expected better of me than to...," her eyes darted across the room to where her family and Mr Bingley mingled and softened her voice further, "to give my virtue to a man before marriage. He might have borne the same better had it been Lydia, but I, as his favorite, have gravely wounded him by what I have done."

"But you were – "

"As were you," she cut in, eyebrows raised in admonition. "I cannot say that either of us bears more blame than the other, but my father's feelings are certainly understandable from his point of view. I am sure that you can think of a situation in which you were disappointed by the behavior of someone you loved." Elizabeth widened her eyes slightly, indicating that he should understand her meaning without additional detail.

Darcy took her meaning perfectly well. Georgiana, though she had not gone so far as to let George Wickham into her bed, had made a grievous moral error in agreeing to elope with that wastrel rather than presenting him to her guardians as a prospective suitor. He would never have been accepted as such, and she likely knew that, leading to a desperate act by an immature girl believing herself to be in love. It had not occurred to Georgiana that there were very good reasons why a marriage between herself and Wickham was verboten and she had chosen to disregard all the lessons of good behavior that had been instilled in her since birth in order to have something she was not supposed to. Darcy had, indeed, been exceptionally disappointed in his sister's judgment and it had altered their relationship for some time afterward.

However, Darcy had made a point of treating her as gently as he could, aware as he was that his omission of telling Georgiana of Wickham's true nature had played a part in her conduct, and had never given her sour looks and silent petulance. Were he to do that, she would have learned nothing from her near escape because she would have labeled her brother as the villain of the piece and maintained her own desires as the moral high ground of "true love." He had scolded Georgiana, of course, but disapprobation had not been his chief communication. Mr Bennet had, apparently, not chosen to treat his daughter similarly even though his own neglectful indolence had played a minor role in Elizabeth becoming intoxicated in the first place. Not that Darcy wished to lay blame away from the principal subjects of the compromise, but a good guardian would necessarily consider himself lacking regardless of how much power he had truly had over the events in question. Georgiana's near ruin still kept him awake some nights and _he_ had stepped in before the situation became irrevocable.

It was no matter; Elizabeth was his to protect now from both the evils of the world and any who would treat her with disdain. "We will be married soon," Darcy reminded her, "and all will be well."

"Yes." Elizabeth's grimace softened into a more natural expression of affection. "I am quite looking forward to seeing Pemberley. Miss Bingley proclaims it to be the greatest estate in all the land, though I have always considered her prone to exaggeration. Is she correct in this instance, sir?"

And so the conversation turned to more pleasant subjects and Darcy was able to distract her from her various troubles for a time. In his periphery, he could see Mr Bennet occasionally dart his eyes toward them, unreadable through the glare that glazed his spectacles.

o0o

Darcy and Bingley had stayed with the Bennet family through dinner, as they had prognosticated to Miss Bingley, and so arrived back at Netherfield relatively late in the day. They found the rest of their party awaiting them in the saloon with varying degrees of anticipation for their arrival.

Hurst, predictably, was the least interested in their comings and goings as he was asleep on a sofa and nearly forgotten even by his own wife. Had he been awake his curiosity would not likely have been any more intense than it already was in his unconscious state.

The man's wife perked up upon their entrance to the room, though her reaction appeared to be relief from the droning boredom of having nothing more interesting to do than play with her bracelets and listen to her shrew of a sister squawk incessantly. Mrs Hurst clearly ached for the variety she was used to sampling in Town.

Miss Bingley was the most transparent in her feelings as Darcy and Bingley let themselves into the saloon, crying out in affected tones, "Why, there the two of you are! I had almost despaired of seeing you before it was time to retire."

Darcy's eyes darted to the windows across the room and noted the warm glow of the setting sun gleaming upon the hardwood floor. He scoffed at the notion that any of them was prepared for bed at this early hour. "We dined with the Bennets, as your brother suggested we might," he reminded her.

Miss Bingley's lip curled upward in an unmistakable sneer. "Oh, yes, of course. And I am sure you sat down to a _lovely_ table."

Darcy accepted a freshly poured glass of wine from Bingley with a nod of thanks. Before taking a sip, he acknowledged, "Yes, we did, indeed. Mrs Bennet is a fine hostess."

He could hear Bingley snorting into his own glass at this declaration, but there was no objection from that quarter. Much as Darcy still hated to give the silly woman any sort of compliment when he could help it, he had spoken the truth; Mrs Bennet's faults did not include being ungenerous to her guests. There had only been two courses, but the dishes laid before them had been both varied and delectable, leaving no cause for complaint by anyone who truly appreciated quality. Snobs who must find fault with everything would pick it apart, but Darcy chose not to quibble over things he legitimately enjoyed.

Miss Bingley exchanged a look with her sister and both ladies shared a skeptical chuckle. "I suppose she must have slaved in the kitchen all day to make a presentable meal to someone so elevated as yourself."

Bingley broke in here. "Actually, their cook did the honors," he corrected. "And I dare say that I have not had such delectable venison anywhere else! The woman is truly gifted. What say you, Darcy?"

"It was roasted to a turn. Very enjoyable."

Hurst snorted and mumbled something about ragout in his sleep. Apparently his unconscious mind was distantly aware that the conversation had turned to edibles.

Miss Bingley would not be repressed in her goal to denigrate the Bennets, however, and turned to Mrs Hurst to exclaim, "All the fat haunches of venison in the world cannot make up for the impropriety of that family. Why, just think of their behavior from the ball! The younger girls chasing after the officers, the mother screeching at the top of her lungs about vulgar subjects," Miss Bingley spared a significant glance toward her brother at this point in her diatribe before carrying on, "and Miss Eliza getting into her cups before even half the night was through! I am sure I could not bear the shame if _I_ had been practically carried upstairs like a common drunkard in a public house. How mortifying!"

Darcy gripped the crystal glass of claret tightly within his fist as he fought the urge to lash out at Miss Bingley for her haughty and disparaging assessment of his betrothed. He could see Bingley looking at him from his peripheral vision, but did not make eye contact as he reigned in his control. Finally, he said, "I understand that many young ladies were so afflicted that night. As you told me yourself, the punch was too strong for those with a delicate constitution."

"'Delicate constitution,' indeed!" Miss Bingley scoffed with a false laugh. Mrs Hurst joined in the mirthless display of hilarity, but in more restrained tones; she seemed more uncomfortably aware of the deepening scowl upon Darcy's face. "Miss Eliza is anything but 'delicate.' Why, never in my life have I known someone so coarse and brown as she is. Louisa and I were agreeing that we should be ashamed to acknowledge her in Town."

Tipping his head back, Darcy finished his wine in a single gulp so that he might have an excuse to cross the room and keep his back to Miss Bingley. To continue in her immediate line of sight would give away the illusion of control he was attempting to hold onto. Though the woman deserved a set down, he would not wish to make a shameful display in his friend's house by insulting his sister. He ached to speak up in Elizabeth's defense, but to do so would have ripped open the floodgates of his temper and any chance of handling the announcement of his engagement diplomatically would be lost.

As he pulled the stopper from the decanter on the sideboard, he could hear Miss Bingley carrying on in the background about how supposedly inferior Elizabeth was. He clenched his fists and rested them upon the gleaming mahogany before him as he wrangled with his anger.

"For my own part," said Miss Bingley loudly enough to carry across the room to him, "I must confess I never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin, her complexion has no brilliancy and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose wants character; there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way." She paused to titter a laugh at Elizabeth's expense before continuing on, in tones marked with amusement. "And as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine, I never could perceive anything extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like at all, and in her air altogether there is a self-sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable."

Bingley attempted to interrupt to change the subject, his voice shaking somewhat; Darcy knew that his friend was discomfited by disputes and wished to end this one before Darcy could be pushed too far. "Louisa, what say you to some music? Could you be persuaded to play for us?"

Darcy heard a rustle of heavy skirts from behind him as, presumably, Bingley's elder sister rose to acquiesce to his request. It seemed that only Miss Bingley lacked the good sense to walk away from this conversation. Darcy remained resolutely silent.

Angry people are not always wise and Miss Bingley, clearly recognizing that her prey was nettled by her constant attacks upon Elizabeth, pursued the topic with all the determination of a hunting dog after a water fowl. "I remember when we first arrived here in Hertfordshire how amazed we all were to find that she was a reputed beauty and I particularly recollect Mr Darcy saying one night, after they had been dining with us, 'She a beauty! I should as soon call her mother a wit.'" She cackled, her voice echoing about the otherwise silent room, before continuing, "But afterwards she seemed to improve upon you, Mr Darcy, and I even believe you have begun to think of her as rather pretty."

Darcy could not ignore this opening that she had presented him and, abandoning the decanter and his empty glass, he whipped around and crossed the room in long strides. Miss Bingley appeared rather startled by his sudden encroachment, Mrs Hurst took a step back with a hand clutched at her throat and Bingley winced at the harsh words he must have known were coming. Hurst continued to snore.

Stopping a few feet before the collection of Bingleys and Hursts, Darcy stretched himself to his tallest height and said, in a tone that brokered no opposition, "Yes, but _that_ was only when I first knew her, for it has been many weeks since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance. In fact, I have, only days ago, proposed to her and have been fortunate enough to gain her acceptance of my hand. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is to become my wife before the year is out."

If Miss Bingley was startled before, she was nothing short of aghast now. Her skin, always fashionably pale, was now almost completely devoid of color and her mouth gaped open like the maw of gasping fish. Her eyes were wide with some emotion Darcy could almost describe as fright.

Seeing that she was finally devoid of words, Darcy dismissed himself for the night, despite the early hour, and exited the room. He left Miss Bingley to all the satisfaction of having forced him to say what gave no one any pain but herself.

* * *

**Author's Note:** There was some temptation to have Miss Bingley make one final, desperate move for Darcy's favor (or at least his proposal), but the chapter was getting too long and I think it would have been excessive anyway. Besides, I already did that in "Welcome Home" (now complete!) and I wouldn't want to repeat myself excessively. Let's consider her dealt with since other antagonists need their say.

**Next Update:** January 24, 2020  
**Expected Completion Date:** February 21, 2020

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	9. Chapter Nine: Resolved to Have Him

**Title: **Under the Influence  
**Rating:** M – for sexual situations just this side of explicit.  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting: **Regency

**Summary:** A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"You are then resolved to have him?"

"I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to _you_, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me."

– Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Elizabeth Bennet, _Pride and Prejudice_ Volume III, Chapter 14

* * *

_**Chapter Nine:** Resolved to Have Him_

Elizabeth  
_Sunday December 1, 1811_

"...all the days of our lives. Amen."

Elizabeth murmured the closing prayer of the morning services with the same respectful reverence she usually did, but without the attention she exerted herself to maintain. Instead, she rather hoped that the Lord was in an indulgent mood that day because her glances and bashful smiles were frequently drawn to where her fiance sat beside her, outwardly as stoic as he was generally reported to be but secretly trading reciprocating looks with her. Fortunately, she had it on good authority that the Almighty was forgiving of trespasses and would likely not think too harshly of their flirtatious behavior with one another (for it was very little less) in His house, especially given the present circumstances.

And how could they deny the temptation? The first of the banns for herself and Fitzwilliam had been read that morning by the same parson who had christened her nearly one-and-twenty years ago, making their admittedly tumultuous engagement to one another official in the eyes of God and society. Elizabeth was more pleased at the prospect than she would outwardly admit – and certainly more than she had thought she would be even a week prior – and not even the disapproving airs of some present could stifle the excitable butterflies frolicking in dizzy circles within her stomach.

Mr Brown's voice had grown rather hoarse after years of speaking publicly on a weekly basis, but there had been a note of affection in his tone as he had announced her upcoming nuptials to Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy and invited any objections. Mr Collins, sitting across the aisle with the Lucases, looked as if he were chewing on his tongue once this opportunity arose, but practical, proper Charlotte had leaned over to whisper something in his ear that apparently had kept him in his seat. The banns for her dear friend and sanctimonious cousin had already been read by Mr Brown without incident.

The neighborhood had been abuzz for some days now with the news of Elizabeth's engagement thanks to Mrs Bennet and Mrs Philips, both of whom had shared it far and wide almost as soon as it had been made known to them, so there was not much surprise, but the confirmation of it seemed to thrill many. Once it had been uttered by the parson, the church had buzzed with excited chatter and it had taken a few extra minutes for all to calm enough to commence with the hymns afterward.

Elizabeth felt rather guilty that, by comparison, Charlotte's pending nuptials had not received such a reaction, but her exceedingly sensible friend had not seemed to mind the disparity. She had exchanged smiles with Elizabeth from across the aisle, sharing cheerfully in the experience of being engaged ladies together, and then returned her attention to where it belonged at the front of the church. As Charlotte seemed satisfied, Elizabeth had decided not to dwell on it further.

Her family, of course, had maintained their separate and disparate opinions on the matter. Mrs Bennet was exuberantly smug over her second daughter's prize catch and had spent the duration of the sermon looking about her and smiling at anyone who happened to catch her eye once the announcement had been made. Her father had kept his face neutral and his attention steadfast upon the vicar, more so even than usual; it was not a stretch for Elizabeth to assume that he was still disapproving of her new situation and this recognition of his feelings over her engagement had been the only event of the morning to give her some discomfort. Jane, sitting on her other side, had smiled serenely and squeezed Elizabeth's hand in a sign of joy and affection. Mary had been unrelentingly pious, nodding her head approvingly at the public recognition of her sister's upcoming godly union, and then proceeded to absorb the lesson as she usually did. Kitty and Lydia had giggled throughout the whole, which they frequently did regardless of what Mr Brown said; their sister's good fortune provided no exception to this general rule of behavior.

Fitzwilliam, perhaps, had been the most thrilled of all present and the sight of his satisfaction had prompted the tingly sensation of hers. He had escorted her into the church upon her arrival with her family and sat most decidedly beside her, setting off a chain of excited murmurs as he had unmistakably claimed his rights as her intended, and Elizabeth had made a point of peering at him around the edge of her bonnet as the bann was read. He had straightened his back and smiled with gratification and pride, no trace of regret anywhere upon his countenance even at such close range. She had felt the warm glow within her chest intensify as she had observed how pleased he was to make their closer connection public.

As Elizabeth later exited the church after the conclusion of services upon the arm of her betrothed, she had been forced to wade through a veritable onslaught of well wishers who were determined to express exactly how happy they were to hear of her upcoming nuptials. She did her best to respond to each of them politely, but she could every moment feel Fitzwilliam stiffening at her side with discomfort.

Now that she was more familiar with his ways, Elizabeth recognized that crowds made him extremely uneasy and to be beset by a large number of near strangers was almost certainly upsetting to him. Considering this fact, Fitzwilliam's nods and mumbled greetings were actually fairly polite – for him. She patted him reassuringly on the hand and gave him encouraging smiles whenever she had the opportunity, which he seemed to appreciate in his subtle way. She was really quite proud of him for not outright offending anyone under the circumstances.

"Thank you, Mrs Long," she said to an elderly widow she had known all her life as one of her friendliest, and most loquacious, neighbors. As the sweet lady continued to chatter on about her good fortune and what she should expect from married life, Elizabeth glanced up at Fitzwilliam to check on his welfare again. His stony facade was in place, but he was handling the crush of busybodies fairly well. Still, to be kind, she would make sure to extricate them as quickly as possible.

"And when you set up your nursery – "

"Yes, thank you, Mrs Long," Elizabeth gently interrupted with more patience than she felt, "but we really must be going before my family leaves us behind. You know how my father likes to be comfortably at home."

The dear lady peeked over Elizabeth's shoulder to see the rest of the Bennets and Mr Bingley strolling away in an orderly line, Mr Bennet steering his wife away from the chattering mob before she could trap them in another conversation. Mrs Bennet was waving and blowing kisses to all as if she were the queen bestowing favor upon her loyal subjects.

"Oh yes, my dear, go on, go on. We shall have a nice chat when I come to call later this week," agreed Mrs Long with a final pat on Elizabeth's free hand. Her other maintained its position in the crook of Fitzwilliam's elbow where she could direct him around any particularly talkative obstacles. If she did not, he would probably just plow right through the crowd without pausing to accept any congratulations at all, which would be exceptionally rude and ruin the goodwill he was accumulating. It was better to avoid women like Mrs Philips or Lady Lucas while accepting the quieter felicitations of Mrs Goulding or Mr Purvis. Mrs Long had crept up behind them before Elizabeth had been any wiser. Thankfully, the good widow was now meandering away to gossip cheerfully with another one of her neighbors, leaving the newly affianced couple to themselves.

As they began moving again, Elizabeth leaned closer to her fiance to whisper, "Do not worry, we shall make our escape now. The worst is over."

Fitzwilliam nodded but said nothing, his tension still palpable. She knew that he was struggling and so felt no inclination to scold him for being so stoic; her boisterous community was a bit much even for those who were more complacent with socializing and a man uncomfortable with so much attention would likely never be at ease amongst them. Elizabeth hoped that he would project more friendliness in smaller groups and individual meetings.

Elizabeth raised her face so that she could look upon Fitzwilliam now without the shade of her bonnet obstructing her view. "Shall we take the longer way back, sir, so that you might regain your equanimity?"

Caught as her hand was within the crook of Fitzwilliam's elbow, she could feel his shoulders relax and slump slightly downward. "Yes, if you please," he admitted quietly.

Elizabeth offered him a smile which she hoped was reassuring and steered him in the opposite direction of their destination, intending to loop around the back side of the house.

"Where is Lizzy going?" Lydia cried out, much too loudly.

"Hush, girl!" Mrs Bennet admonished, flicking her handkerchief irritably at her youngest. "They are engaged and may go wherever they wish to."

Elizabeth thought that this was something of an exaggeration, but did not feel it prudent to correct her mother while so many of their neighbors still loitered nearby. "We are going for a walk around the lawn; I require some fresh air."

Kitty and Lydia hid their mouths behind their hands, but their shrieking giggles were completely audible to everyone. A few vulgar words and insinuations also escaped their lackluster defense against eavesdroppers.

"It is not proper to be without a chaperone," condemned Mary, a frown deepening upon her face.

Mr Bennet, exasperation leaking from his tone, interjected, "Leave them be. What further damage can be done? Come, step lightly girls or we will not make it home before dark."

Elizabeth flushed at this subtle admonishment, surmising correctly that he was alluding to her compromising interlude with Fitzwilliam. She could feel the gentleman at her side stiffen again.

"We will be in before too long," Elizabeth assured all assembled with forced cheerfulness. "And we shall be visible from the windows."

"Very well," agreed Mr Bennet, giving a gentle tug to his wife's arm to continue their progress home. Mrs Bennet was easily led, squawking about how many visits she expected to have this coming week.

"Shall we?" Fitzwilliam asked gently, his head bent to speak directly into the ear nearest to him. She could not feel his breath because of how her bonnet covered her, but she could almost sense the vibrations of his words.

Elizabeth smiled up at him, those butterflies fluttering riotously in her belly. "Yes, we shall."

Before they could so much as take a step, however, Elizabeth felt a shove from behind and lurched forward. She would have likely landed face first into the dirt had Fitzwilliam not steadied her on her feet.

"Have a care, sir!" her champion admonished as he gently guided her back into an upright position. Fitzwilliam's face, far from the marble-like facade he wore to dissuade familiarity from strangers, was arranged in such a way that conveyed nothing less than anger. His forehead was folded downward above his narrowed eyes, his jaw was rigid as if he clenched his teeth and his mouth was stretched into a single thin line.

Mr Collins, looking over his shoulder with haughty nonchalance, was apparently unaffected by this display of temper from Fitzwilliam. "I am sorry, Cousin," said he in an insincere, simpering voice, "but you must accept some of the blame for being in the middle of the path where others are trying to walk."

Fitzwilliam began to step forward, his fists clenched, but Elizabeth placed her free hand upon his shoulder and silently bid him to restrain himself. Fitzwilliam made a visible effort and then subsided, though he continued to glare at the sweaty, odious man who had presumed to accost his bride.

"I shall keep that in mind in future, Mr Collins," she assured her cousin, earning a sneer in return. She was no fonder of the treatment Mr Collins had subjected her to since the announcement of her engagement than Fitzwilliam was, but she had recently learned that it was better to keep the peace with this man whenever possible. Arguments between their guest and some others of the household – Mrs Bennet, in particular, though he had managed to provoke nearly everyone to some degree – had proven to be volatile in recent days and a public scene would not be helpful in promoting harmony at Longbourn. The sooner tomorrow came and Mr Collins departed for his home, the better, in Elizabeth's opinion (in which she was joined by almost everyone of her acquaintance, possibly even Charlotte).

Mr Collins shook his head with an air of long suffering. "See that you do."

"Come, Mr Collins," called Charlotte from a few feet up the lane ahead of them where she stood with her family. Her eyes darted between Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam and her fiance as if she suspected some disagreement to be ongoing between them. Elizabeth was grateful for her interference. "It is time to return to Lucas Lodge."

Mr Collins bowed to his bride, saying, "I shall be with you directly, my dear. I am only bidding farewell to my Cousin Elizabeth and Mr Darcy."

Elizabeth bobbed a curtsy at this opening, bid him a mumbled good day and allowed Fitzwilliam to begin leading her away. After this exasperating interlude, she looked forward to their solitary walk to restore her own peace of mind as well as his.

Before they had advanced many steps, she heard Mr Collins calling her back, having apparently not fulfilled his requirement of words for their conversation. With difficulty, Elizabeth suppressed the urge to snap at him as she stopped in place, halting Fitzwilliam also, and turned slightly back to respond to him. "Yes?"

"I would advise you to imbibe lightly of your wine at dinner today," he urged without any sign of obvious provocation for the comment, a rather sickening smile curling upon his pudgy face, "lest you become..._ill_ again. And perhaps latch your door more securely tonight."

Remembering the sight of someone scurrying into his bedchamber the night of her discussion with Jane gave Elizabeth a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, more like the writhing of snakes than the happy gamboling of butterflies. Could Mr Collins be implying...?

"You have said quite enough, sir," warned Fitzwilliam, tugging at Elizabeth's arm to urge her back into motion. "We bid you a good day."

Elizabeth placed her free hand upon her stomach where her nerves were squirming within. Mr Collins, in his own inept way, had threatened her reputation. He had hardly been subtle, which was all the more worrisome; would he let something slip without forethought? Had he already told someone else?

"What was that, Elizabeth?" Fitzwilliam whispered, rather harshly, once they were far enough away to be overheard by no one.

Elizabeth looked up at him, saw his grim demeanor, and looked back down again. "I believe he might know about our…'incident.'"

"How?"

"I was talking to Jane the night of our betrothal," she admitted, tears stinging the rims of her eyelids; she fluttered her lashes rapidly to keep them at bay, "and I told her what had happened. She is trustworthy and we have always shared confidences, so I did not think it would cause any harm. When Jane left to return to her room, I thought I saw someone quickly go into Mr Collins' room and shut the door."

"Why did you not tell me?" Elizabeth could feel Fitzwilliam's displeasure practically radiating from his rigid body.

"I..." Elizabeth could not truly say why she had not told him. Part of her had been in denial about what she had seen, had hoped that perhaps she had either been mistaken or simply misinterpreted it, but she also admitted to herself that she had not wished to reveal another of her family's failings to Fitzwilliam. How could she tell him when their happiness – such as it was – was so fragile? Moreover, she had quite simply forgotten between her father's petulance, Charlotte's acceptance of Mr Collins and the constant bickering at Longbourn. "I do not know. I thought you would be angry with me, I suppose."

She heard Fitzwilliam unleash a sigh weighted with disappointment and irritation. "I am not angry with _you_, Elizabeth, but I wish you had told me. I could have spoken with Mr Collins and made it very clear to him that he was to speak of our 'incident' with no one. Has he been threatening you?"

Elizabeth shook her head and kicked at a piece of gravel in her path. "No, this is the first time he has brought it up. Quite honestly, I have not seen much of him these past days; he has been spending much of his time at Lucas Lodge. He is only barely welcome at Longbourn because of his persistent complaints about me and our engagement, so he is generally only seen just before we all go to bed."

"I shall make a point of having a conversation with him," announced Fitzwilliam as he placed his opposite hand upon the fingers of hers that were curled around the inside of his arm. "I will make sure that he understands that he was mistaken in what he heard and warn him to keep scurrilous rumors to himself. He will not bother you over the subject again."

"He will leave for home tomorrow," said Elizabeth, "and we do not expect to see him again today for he has made it clear that he prefers to dine in the company of his bride's family."

"Then I shall come early on the morrow so that I might have the opportunity to speak with him before he leaves the country," replied Fitzwilliam with firmness. Decision made, they lapsed into silence.

Elizabeth dared to glance up at him again just as they crossed onto Longbourn's property and continued their excursion upon the lawn. Dry, yellowed grass crunched loudly beneath her boots as she queried, somewhat timidly, "And you are not angry with me?"

Fitzwilliam was already looking down upon her, his gray eyes softened like downy clouds just before a rainstorm. "No, I am not angry with you, as I said before. It is natural to confide in one you have known as a trusted confidante all your life and what Mr Collins did was a violation of privacy and proper decorum. He came by the information in an unauthorized way and shall not be rewarded for his efforts."

Elizabeth blushed and managed a smile for him. "Thank you, Fitzwilliam."

"You are most welcome, Elizabeth," he replied. Fitzwilliam's returning smile was light, but conveyed genuine peace and affection. The snakes gave way once again to the playful butterflies.

Elizabeth spontaneously decided that he deserved a reward for his good behavior in the churchyard and his understanding in relation to the lapse with Mr Collins. With a quick peek to confirm that her family had already ensconced themselves inside the house, she tugged at the arm linked with hers. "Come," she said, promising him much with an arch raise of her brow and a subtle pout of her lips.

Fitzwilliam appeared perplexed at her sudden action, but followed her readily enough as she led them toward the little wilderness on the far side of their lawn where the falsified ruins of a hermitage resided. Here, they could be assured of some relative privacy while maintaining a veneer of respectability by remaining out in the open. Their activities could not be easily witnessed from the house, but should anyone come outside to find them they would be readily available to whomever called for them.

After leading him under a crumbling archway of gray stone, Elizabeth darted to the left, chuckling at Fitzwilliam's bewildered expression. "I thought you might prefer some privacy, sir."

"'Privacy'?" he repeated, coming to a stop before her. He took the other hand that she offered so that he was holding both within his possession.

"Yes, privacy," she agreed, taking a step forward. Her motions were less confident now, more slow in deference to the shyness that was rising in its place, but Elizabeth's courage always rose at any attempt to intimidate her – even when she was the one providing the challenge to herself. She tilted her head backward and allowed her eyes to flutter closed.

For an exceedingly long time – which was probably not long at all but felt so when her heart was beating so rapidly within her breast – it seemed that Fitzwilliam was not inclined to take her up on her brash invitation. She wondered, with no little mortification, if her behavior were wanton and unacceptable to him, even despite their previous interlude. Did he think her as crass as her younger sisters? Would he chastise her for publicly offering that which should only be indulged in private? Was he – ?

Just as she was beginning to panic, Elizabeth felt warm breath that was not her own upon her cheek and a petal soft touch against her mouth. She released a sigh of relief and pressed more firmly against Fitzwilliam, which encouraged him, in turn, to flick out his tongue to tickle against the seam of her lips in a tentative bid for entrance. She allowed the invasion with a slackening of her jaw.

Elizabeth felt the vibration of Fitzwilliam's moan against her teeth as his tongue swept inside her mouth, meeting with hers and stroking it into action. She returned the gesture with gusto and shook her hands free of his so that she could raise them up to his neck. She was wearing gloves, but could still feel the simmering heat from his scalp as she dug her fingers into the curls she could reach beneath his hat.

Fitzwilliam's hands utilized their new freedom to dart out and pull her closer to his body, pressing them together by firm placement upon her lower back. They kneaded the flesh that they could not quite touch beneath her clothing, lowering incrementally with each heartbeat closer to forbidden territory. Elizabeth was sure that she should stop them, but recalled fondly how they had touched her the night of the ball and could not muster the determination to cease their exploration. The wanton part of her that he had unleashed hoped that he would cup her backside and bring her closer to that hardness that she was beginning to detect between them.

"_Elizabeth_," he groaned in a hoarse, guttural exclamation as he wrenched their lips apart. He looked rather pained as he said, "What you do to me..."

Elizabeth licked at her mouth, tasting the flavor that he had left behind. "Did I...do something wrong?"

Fitzwilliam leaned his head down to rest his forehead against hers, his eyes squeezed shut as if in utter agony. "No, my love, not at all. But after having you before, my self control...we should be cautious before our wedding night. Especially when we are so exposed."

"Then, no more kissing?" she asked, irrationally hurt by his rejection of her overture. She knew he was correct, but it felt like a personal rebuff of her affections. Or, if she could not quite admit to affection for him yet, at least her attempts at building it.

His hands rose to cup her cheeks and his lips descended upon hers again, pecking lightly as if he were trying to soothe her offense. He probably was. "No, no – nothing like that. We must simply be wary of getting carried away, that is all."

"So...we should not be alone?" she postulated, her eyes sinking closed again as Fitzwilliam's mouth roamed across her face.

"Mmm...probably not," he admitted, trailing down her cheek toward her neck. He nipped at her earlobe as he went past. "Not until we are married."

"Then we should return to the house now," she suggested, a little impishly, as his tongue lashed out to taste her throat. Oh, how she loved it when he did that...

"Perhaps...," he said, lapping at her again, "in a few minutes."

She did not interrupt him again until she heard Hill calling from the kitchen door for them to come into the house for tea.

o0o

_Monday December 2, 1811_

The next morning Elizabeth and the rest of the Bennets had the misfortune of experiencing Mr Collins' company once again as it had been during the first portion of his visit. He had, according to his own information, already made his formal farewells to his bride and future in-laws the night before and would not be required to leave Longbourn until he was ready to depart for Kent. Elizabeth knew that she could not be the only member of their household wondering when, exactly, that departure might be.

Mr Collins, though she would not have credited him with so much sense before, seemed aware that his more pointed complaints regarding Elizabeth and her engagement to Fitzwilliam were not appreciated by many (and even those who might agree were not inclined to discuss it), so limited himself to glib comments and less than delicate jabs at her expense. He was misunderstood by no one, even those who were normally more obtuse with subtle language, but at least there was no more shouting in the parlor. Mrs Bennet, his primary adversary, seemed willing to ignore his existence as she had in the wake of their initial disagreement.

Elizabeth, though normally not inclined to follow her mother's example, tried to do the same, but Mr Collins was as unrelenting in his commentary as he ever was and it became impossible to focus on her embroidery with him buzzing about the room like a loquacious gnat.

"Cousin, when you are married – excuse me, _if_ you are married..."

"...Miss Anne de Bourgh is such a charming young lady, indeed. Lady Catherine herself says that in point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of her sex; because there is that in her features which marks the young woman of distinguished birth..."

"...and so, as the Good Book says, fornication is a most grievous sin, especially in young ladies..."

And on and on he went. Incessantly. Elizabeth's eyes darted between the clock above the mantelpiece and the window which viewed the drive as she waited most impatiently for Fitzwilliam to arrive for his intended conference with Mr Collins. He, at least, might be able to address the situation in a way that would force Mr Collins to desist in his harassment.

At an hour still too early for visitors, Elizabeth's sentry at the window enabled her to discern a cloud of dust rising at a distance down the lane before anyone else became aware. Her stomach clenched in anticipation, assuming the arrival to be Fitzwilliam, but once the newcomer became clearer at closer proximity she became confused. Instead of her fiance riding up to Longbourn on his tall, dark steed, a shiny black carriage led by a team of six horses was being dragged up the drive carrying a person (or persons) of unknown identity. No one in the area had a vehicle of such affluence, nor would they bother to utilize it for a visit upon the Bennets, so who could it be?

"Ah, now all shall be put to rights," said the voice of Mr Collins just behind her chair, causing Elizabeth to jump slightly.

"I beg your pardon?" she said, wary of her cousin's meaning.

Mr Collins' eyes rolled downward to look up on her, his nose still angled high in the air, as he replied, "You shall see, Cousin Elizabeth, you shall see."

After this cryptic answer, he spun about on his heel and strode through the parlor door without speaking another word to anyone else. Mrs Bennet interrupted her silly conversation with Lydia over a dismantled bonnet to watch him go and then sent a quizzical look in Elizabeth's direction. Her second daughter shrugged in response as she had no explanation for her mother's silent query.

After the wait of a few minutes, Elizabeth's curiosity was relieved by the sounds of scuffling in the corridor proceeded immediately by the opening of the parlor door.

"...right this way, your ladyship. I thank you for gracing my future abode with your magnanimous presence..."

Elizabeth could see her mother from across the room grow rigid with offense as Mr Collins walked backwards inside, bowed low at the waist, heralding the arrival of a tall, rather large woman draped in all black and glaring at the inhabitants. By rote, the Bennet ladies all rose to curtsy to their mysterious guest.

This lady was, if possible, even more clearly convinced of her importance in the world than Mr Bingley's supercilious sisters. Her expression was fixed in lines of haughty disapproval as if everything surrounding her were beneath her notice and had no hope of ever creating a positive impression upon her. She wore expensive fabrics, though the garment itself was cut in an outdated style, and adorned her throat, ears and fingers with glittering jewels which indicated she was both wealthy and ostentatious about displaying it to others. This woman was above being pleased.

"...and I am grateful, as ever, for your condesc – "

"Which one is it, Mr Collins?" this woman demanded, interrupting the parson mid-word, her dark beady eyes looking to each young lady in turn.

Mr Collins, still bent in his bow as if locked in place, scurried forward to indicate Elizabeth with the sweep of an accusatory finger. "This one, my Lady. Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"_Miss Elizabeth Bennet_," the woman – whom Elizabeth was forced to presume must be Lady Catherine de Bourgh, based upon the obsequious deference of Mr Collins – spat, her nose wrinkling as her upper lip pushed it higher with a sneer. "I would speak to you."

"I beg your pardon, madam," Elizabeth replied with cool placidity, determined to keep her anger and offense in check, "but I do not believe we have been introduced."

"This," interjected Mr Collins haughtily, as if the lapse in social niceties had not been his own error, "is the right honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park and my patroness. She is also the mother of Mr Darcy's _true_ fiance, Miss Anne de Bourgh."

Throughout the room, Elizabeth could hear her mother and each of her sisters gasp, whether due to the revelation of the lady's identity or the callously offensive words of Mr Collins she could not determine. She ignored their response, however, and curtsied slightly in acknowledgment of the introduction. "Lady Catherine, I am, as my cousin has so generously pointed out, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. How may I be of assistance to you?"

"Obstinate, headstrong girl!" cried Lady Catherine, apparently taking Elizabeth's civility as a glib statement. She had not meant it as such, but was not inclined to assuage her ladyship's feelings on the matter considering her own rude behavior. "And _this_ is the little upstart who has turned Darcy's head from my Anne? It shall not be borne!"

From everything that Mr Collins had said of both Lady Catherine and Miss Anne de Bourgh, Elizabeth strongly suspected that _she_ could accept no accolades for "turning Darcy's head" away from the match his aunt had arranged for him. She highly doubted that either mother or daughter was in any way acceptable to such a man as her Fitzwilliam who naturally would not wish his own authority subverted by a brash creature such as this. As for Miss de Bourgh, "sickly" had been utilized in her description on numerous occasions and by more than one person so it was natural to assume that she held no attraction for her betrothed.

Of course, Lady Catherine was unlikely to see it this way. She probably presumed that all would go according to her wishes simply _because_ she wished it to be so; it would never occur to someone who demanded such cowering obedience from her underlings (and, indeed, complete strangers in their own home) that others might exercise their free will against her.

"I am afraid, Lady Catherine, that my marriage to Mr Darcy is quite a settled thing. Unless he has signed marriage articles in regards to Miss de Bourgh, our wedding shall proceed as planned at the end of the month," Elizabeth said slowly, deliberately, firmly. She would not be misunderstood.

Lady Catherine's maw opened wide as if to begin shouting again, but then relaxed and closed. She inhaled a single sharp breath before saying, in a calmer manner, "Miss Bennet, there seemed to be a prettyish kind of little wilderness on one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you will favor me with your company."

Elizabeth bowed her head in acquiescence, recognizing immediately the benefit to holding this interview – or interrogation, more like – without quite so many blabbering witnesses in attendance. "Indeed, madam. I shall fetch my things and meet you in the vestibule presently."

On her way to the door, Elizabeth paused at the knot of Bennet ladies on the other side of the room where her sisters flanked their mother in a protective gesture. Jane stood behind Mrs Bennet with her hands upon the matron's shoulders, Mary held the jar of smelling salts off to one side while Kitty and Lydia each took one of their mother's hands within their own and soothed her with gentle pats. Though Mrs Bennet was silly and her nervous affliction largely imagined, her offspring always indulged her whenever there was some true matter of disturbance within the household to set her in a flutter.

Elizabeth smiled softly down at her mother who, despite her daughters' attendance, appeared to be on the verge of hysterical tears. "Do not worry, Mama," she shushed quietly, "all will be well."

She then exited the room, leading Mr Collins and Lady Catherine out into the entry hall where a terrified Mrs Hill stood frozen. Elizabeth calmly bid their housekeeper to bring her pelisse and bonnet, sending the good woman scurrying upstairs to retrieve them, and then waited patiently for her to return. In the meantime, Lady Catherine persisted in glaring at her without intermission and Mr Collins smirked with disgusting smugness.

Elizabeth rather hoped that Fitzwilliam would arrive soon and rescue her from this most awkward situation. She was not fearful of this old, pushy woman, but knew that her reserves of serenity were not nearly so deep as Jane's and that she was likely to give permanent offense with each passing minute if no one stepped in to ameliorate the situation.

Once Hill arrived with Elizabeth's outerwear, she dismissed the housekeeper – who was obviously grateful for the reprieve if her trembling lip were an accurate indication – and donned the pelisse and bonnet herself. She then led the small party three out of doors and headed directly for the hermitage she and Fitzwilliam had exchanged kisses in the previous day, hating that their intimate spot was about to be tainted by discord but knowing that there was nowhere else so private for such a conversation.

After they had walked through the stone archway, Lady Catherine wasted no time in getting directly to her point. "You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I come."

Feeling no urge to make this interview easy for Lady Catherine, Elizabeth chose to misunderstand her. "Indeed, you are mistaken, madam. As we are not acquainted, I cannot account for the honor of seeing you here, though I must suppose it relates to my betrothal to Mr Darcy."

"Miss Bennet," replied Lady Catherine in an angry tone, "you ought to know that a woman of my station is not to be trifled with. But however insincere _you_ may choose to be, you shall not find _me_ so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature reached me two days ago from Mr Collins," here Mr Collins straightened his spine in prideful acknowledgment of what was, not quite, a compliment relating to his loyalty to Lady Catherine, "that you were on the point of being most advantageously married to my nephew, my own nephew, Mr Darcy. Though I _know_ it must be a scandalous falsehood, though I would not injure him so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I have been assured that it is largely circulated in this area and regarded as a fact. I instantly resolved on setting off for this place that I might make my sentiments known to you."

"If you believed it impossible to be true," said Elizabeth, allowing a touch of her disdain to break through the facade she was struggling to hold, "I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship propose by it?"

"At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted."

"Your coming to Longbourn to see me and my family will be rather a confirmation of it," Elizabeth pointed out, logically. Her anger at the imposition of this rude woman was fading slightly into dark amusement at her expense.

Lady Catherine took a few steps nearer to Elizabeth, her cane rapping harshly against the flagstones laid upon the ground. "This is not to be borne! Miss Bennet, I insist on being satisfied."

"I am afraid that is impossible, your ladyship," replied Elizabeth, straightening her spine and refusing to move from her position. She would not be intimidated. "Your nephew proposed, I accepted and we are to be married at the end of the month, as I have already said. This interview is an exercise in futility."

"And what if the circumstances surrounding this supposed engagement were to be revealed to the world?" Lady Catherine posed, her words hissing through the barrier of her clenched teeth. "Are you willing to risk the damage to you and your family's reputation when the world is made aware of your immoral and wanton ways?"

Elizabeth swiveled her head to glare in Mr Collins' direction. He stood off to the side without comment or hint of shame for what he had brought upon his own family in defense of a woman who more than likely held him in contempt.

"Oh yes, I know it all!" exclaimed Lady Catherine, her lips extending into what might have been a smile had it not been also cruel and terrible to behold. "That this engagement is a patched-up business at the expense of my nephew's honor. Tell me, how much will it take?"

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth's anger flared back up again at the insinuation that she could not help but surmise from Lady Catherine's statement. She had been prepared to speak rationally and point out the possible detriment to Darcy's reputation if his aunt had dared to make their interlude public, but the vulgar offer had turned Elizabeth's inclination another way.

"How much money will it take for you to dissolve this arrangement with my nephew? I know _your kind_ is hardly shy about such things, so give me a number and we can negotiate terms," Lady Catherine clarified, though she had not really needed to.

Elizabeth felt her face heat up with rage she was struggling to suppress. Her jaw was tight and her voice strangled with fury as she responded frankly to Lady Catherine's obscene attempts at haggling for her nephew's freedom. "I do not want your money. I will marry Fitzwilliam and no amount will dissuade me."

"I guarantee you will receive more money from me than you could ever get from a breach of promise suit," the elder lady warned, "and, if you keep your demands reasonable, I shall also broker a marriage for you to keep your reputation in tact."

Elizabeth was nothing short of astonished at this offer. How could this woman possibly believe that she had the right to not only insist upon dissolving an understanding between two consenting people but also rearrange their partners to suit her needs? The gall of this supposition was not to be believed! "I am afraid I shall have to refuse your ladyship's generosity, though I cannot fathom just how you would accomplish such a task as arranging a marriage for a person you have never met before today."

"You shall marry Mr Collins, of course," said Lady Catherine impatiently, waving a hand in the direction of the parson hovering in the background. Mr Collins smirked at her.

Now Elizabeth was aghast. "What about Charlotte?" she demanded of Mr Collins.

Mr Collins shrugged. "It is unfortunate, but necessary. I cannot shirk my duties to my patroness."

Elizabeth was beginning to wonder if there was some contagious madness in Kent that she had not been informed of. Could these people truly believe that they would get their own way in this? Mr Collins had already been soundly – and repeatedly – rejected by her before, so what made him think that she would accept him under coercion from Lady Catherine? Did he truly believe she was all powerful and capable of conjuring any result she wished, regardless of implausibility? She had a very strong urge to inform his bishop of what she suspected were Mr Collins' idolatrous leanings.

Moreover, she was offended – and deeply – on behalf of her dear friend who had accepted Mr Collins, in spite of his absurdities, and agreed to become his long-suffering wife. Elizabeth felt that it was not the most sensible thing that Charlotte had ever done, but she had done so in good faith that Mr Collins would keep his promise and meet her at the altar. To do otherwise would utterly destroy Charlotte's good name, making her even more unmarriageable than even she had been as a lady almost decidedly on the shelf. Not only that, but it could ruin Maria's chances and shame Sir William and Lady Lucas undeservedly. How could a man who supposedly preached Christian charity even think of jilting the woman who was, even now, planning their wedding? Disgusting, dishonorable man!

"Whether you take Mr Collins or not," said Lady Catherine, apparently unconcerned with the details on this point, "you would be wise to take me up on my offer now before my nephew comes to his senses and jilts you. With my contribution to your family's coffers, even if you never marry, your sisters might. If nothing else, you can support yourself once you are inevitably disgraced in all good society and retire somewhere you are unknown. If there is a child, you could raise it with some stability. If you do not accept this generous charity, however, you and all your family will be disgraced in the eyes of everybody. Do not assume that Darcy will stand by you once the truth is known by all and sundry!"

It angered Elizabeth almost more to hear Lady Catherine denigrate Fitzwilliam's honor in such a way. Did she not know him at all? Even on an acquaintance of barely over two months and after various misunderstandings between them, Elizabeth was well aware that, his feelings for her aside, Darcy would _never_ go back on his word. He was a gentleman, she a gentleman's daughter, and his honor forbade such conduct.

Through a throat strangled with rage, Elizabeth responded simply, "He would never do that."

Lady Catherine scoffed at this notion, laughing mirthlessly directly in Elizabeth's face. "You think not, do you? Well, once I remind him of the benefits of marrying my Anne, he will denounce you faster than you can spread your – "

"_Enough_!"

All three members involved in this inquisition jumped visibly as a strong voice, seemingly out of nowhere, roared in displeasure. Lady Catherine stumbled back a step before regaining her balance with her cane and Mr Collins flinched his shoulders upward in cowardice. Only Elizabeth remained in position as she turned to see Fitzwilliam striding across the lawn and beneath the stone arch to her defense. Beyond him, Elizabeth could see her father's face appear in the window to his study and then withdraw almost immediately.

Elizabeth released a breath of relief at Fitzwilliam's arrival. She had been about to say something unwise.

As angry as she felt, Elizabeth could see that Fitzwilliam was, perhaps, even more lost to the emotion than she was. She suspected that Lady Catherine had that effect on people. "Lady Catherine," he spat, insinuating himself between Elizabeth and his aunt, sending both ladies stumbling backward and away from one another, "what are you doing here?"

"Preventing you from making a foolish mistake!" cried the old dame, waving her cane about in the air for emphasis. Fitzwilliam's beaver fell victim to this motion and tumbled to the ground, unnoticed by its owner. "She has drawn you in with her arts and allurements – "

"Even if she has, which I do not concede," interrupted Fitzwilliam, catching the walking stick on a downward arc and ripping it from his aunt's hand, "there is nothing for you to do about it. I will marry Elizabeth and you have no say in the matter."

"Darcy," cajoled Lady Catherine, her voice pitched in what Elizabeth might almost have called a whine, "_think_. You could marry Anne by Christmas. I will get a special license. Even if the girl brings a suit against you, it will be nothing, a mere trifle! Indeed, it need not even get that far for I have taken it upon myself to offer – "

"I heard," cut in Fitzwilliam shortly. "Elizabeth – Miss Bennet – has already declined and there is nothing more to say on the subject."

Elizabeth reached out and stroked his forearm, feeling as much as witnessing the fist held behind his back relax into a looser hold.

"Furthermore," he continued, more controlled now, "by doing so she has now proven that her goal has not been my fortune. Had that been the case, I am sure that she would have accepted your money in favor of keeping her and her family's reputation safe."

Lady Catherine snorted. "I am sure she sees you as the bigger fish, Darcy. Do not give her so much credit."

"Even if that were so," replied Fitzwilliam, his tone cool, "it matters not. I love her and will have her as my wife regardless. You must brook disappointment in this."

"I will not!" screeched the lady, stomping her foot against the pave stones. "I will go to my brother and _insist_ upon him exerting his authority in this manner! You are engaged to Anne and I will not have some scandalous country tart get in the way of a union which has been in the making for more than five-and-twenty years!"

Fitzwilliam was unmoved by her display of temper. "Uncle Hugh is the head of the Fitzwilliam family, not the Darcys, and as such he has no authority to direct my behavior even should he wish to, which I am convinced he will not. I am my own master and will do as I please."

"Your mother – "

"_My mother_ would wish me to choose my own wife," broke in Fitzwilliam testily. "She never once mentioned any sort of arrangement between myself and Anne. Even if she had, it was up to my father to solemnize it, not her. You have no standing in this matter."

"I have not done!" Lady Catherine exclaimed, her already reddened face deepening in color until it was almost purple. "I have another objection – "

"Which I suggest you keep to yourself, madam," interjected the wry tones of yet another voice. Elizabeth turned to see her father standing directly beneath the archway, his hands clasped behind him and his glasses flashing in the dull sunlight that had managed to escape the low hanging clouds. "Though I cannot say I am much more enthusiastic about the thought of my daughter marrying your nephew than you are, the matter is settled and has been for some time now. The first banns have been read, the engagement published around the neighborhood and the parties themselves are disinclined to break off their understanding. I believe your arguments are moot. Now, if you would be so kind as to collect your parson," Mr Bennet nodded in the direction of Mr Collins, who was attempting to blend into the stonework behind him, "and leave I would be greatly obliged."

Lady Catherine, perhaps sensing that she was not, after all, going to get her way, snatched her walking stick back from Fitzwilliam and began stalking away. "I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet, or any of your family. None of you deserve any such attention," she proclaimed as she pushed past Mr Bennet and directed her steps toward the carriage which was still waiting upon the drive.

Mr Collins scuttled after her like a frightened spider, wringing his hands and muttering to himself, but was stopped at the archway by Mr Bennet's admonition, "Mr Collins, do not think I am unaware of your part in all this." He nodded in the direction of Lady Catherine who was screeching at her coachman to prepare the horses. "You might be my heir and entitled to this estate upon my passing, but do not make the mistake of inviting yourself here again while it remains under my tenure. Do we understand one another?"

Mr Collins mumbled something unintelligible in response.

Mr Bennet took it as agreement, however, and dismissed him thusly, "Very well, off you go, then."

Before the clergyman could make his escape, however, Fitzwilliam called out to him to have his own say. "And I would be very careful about spreading any information you may or may not have overheard in regards to my engagement to Miss Bennet, Collins. Lady Catherine is old and will not live forever and I doubt you will ever advance up the ranks of your profession should you anger me. Consider yourself warned."

Mr Collins said nothing to this, but instead went very pale and bowed repeatedly to Fitzwilliam before all but running away from the scene. He tripped and stumbled in his efforts to catch up to Lady Catherine's carriage, which was even now pulling out of the drive and exiting into the lane.

Elizabeth looked up to Darcy as she pondered this threat. It seemed unlikely to her that her betrothed could really have so much influence over her cousin's future – nor was he likely to allow Charlotte to suffer, if she still agreed to marry the lout after Elizabeth informed her of what he had said about dissolving their understanding to bind himself to a woman who had already rejected him on the insistence of a third party – but she supposed that Mr Collins was probably not intelligent enough to comprehend how very little Fitzwilliam could really do. His rank and wealth would make any threat seem plausible enough to one of Mr Collins' mean understanding. Well, after everything he had said and done in regards to their engagement, including his attempted jilt of Charlotte, _Elizabeth_ wouldn't be the one to enlighten him. Let the worm wriggle.

"Elizabeth..."

She turned slightly to face Fitzwilliam, allowing her expression to soften for him. As she had ample proof, one could not dictate the manners of one's family members, no matter how egregiously awful they behaved. Elizabeth reached out and grasped the fist which maintained its position at his lower back and drew it away from his body, interlacing their fingers. "Do not trouble yourself, Fitzwilliam. You are not at fault and I require no atonement from you."

The grimace on Fitzwilliam's face told her that not only had she guessed correctly about what he had intended to say, but also that he disagreed with her. "But Lady Catherine..."

"Shush," she soothed, bringing forth her other hand to clasp the appendage she held between both of her own. "Mr Collins is my relation and not at all innocent in this. Would you blame me for his poor behavior?"

"No, of course not."

"Then absolve yourself of Lady Catherine's. To do otherwise gives her power that she does not have," chided Elizabeth, but gently. She smiled up at her fiance as a surge of affection for him welled within her breast.

He breathed a soft sigh and reached out to stroke her cheek. His tone was full of relief as he whispered her name. "Elizabeth..."

"A-_hem_."

The engaged couple whipped their heads around to focus upon Mr Bennet who still stood in exactly the same spot he had been when ejecting Mr Collins from his property. His eyebrow, the one Elizabeth so often mimicked when she was feeling impish or dryly humorous, was raised high upon his forehead as he observed them through his spectacles. Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush pink at his scrutiny.

"If you are finished," said her father, his tone sarcastic, "perhaps we could head back to the house? I am sure your mother requires some consolation."

Elizabeth and Darcy agreed to this plan and followed Mr Bennet as he turned to walk back to the house, though their hands remained linked as they walked.

o0o

The rest of Elizabeth's day was blessedly free of Mr Collins, Lady Catherine and any other person so wholly unconnected to the happiness of the inhabitants of Longbourn. The discussion of events had been lively, both in positive and negative ways, but none of those ensconced within the house had any complaints about this. Even Fitzwilliam, who was lauded by the ladies as the great hero of the hour who had banished the terrible gorgon and her minion back into the depths from which they had come, was relatively tranquil amidst the chaos. He had been rather bashful at the exuberant praise and even blushed when his bride asserted her own pride in his actions, but seemed quietly pleased by the attention rather than disconcerted as was his usual wont. Perhaps he was beginning to settle into the Bennet family in spite of his early aversion to their ways, Elizabeth mused with good humor.

Mrs Bennet had been in a sorry state upon Elizabeth's re-entrance to the house, wailing and crying and generally caught up in hysterics that her children were frantically attempting to mollify. Even when her second eldest had returned to reassure her that there was no need for alarm, that Darcy was in no way beholden to "that Miss de Bourgh creature" and that the wedding between himself and Elizabeth was still going forth, it had taken the better part of an hour to calm her enough to listen to reason. She had retired upstairs with all five of her daughters to regain her equilibrium.

While so occupied, the men had apparently been busy rousting Mr Collins from the house. It was not unsurprising to anyone besides the odious parson himself that Lady Catherine would leave him behind, meaning that he was marooned in Hertfordshire without any mode of transportation back to Hunsford. This was, naturally, unacceptable to the father and fiance of Elizabeth, who both insisted that he depart forthwith from the property and never darken its door again until he retained ownership of it upon the former's death. Mr Collins had, by Fitzwilliam's report, whined like a babe about having no place else to go, which in the household's collective opinion was all his own fault.

However, though he and Mr Bennet were unusually joined against Mr Collins in a camaraderie which sprung from the protection of Elizabeth's honor, Fitzwilliam had eventually convinced his future father-in-law to allow the clergyman to take the Bennet carriage (Darcy's still being at Netherfield since he had ridden over on his stallion) as far as Meryton with his luggage. There, Mr Collins could engage a room at the inn until he was able to procure satisfactory transportation back to Hunsford on the morrow. Should he wish to engage the services of the Lucases, he could send word from there as it was not the inclination of either gentleman to burden their neighbors with Mr Collins' presence unsolicited.

Mr Collins thus dealt with, the ladies of the house felt secure enough to descend to the lower floor and resume their activities in the parlor while Mrs Bennet slept above stairs with the aid of a little laudanum in her tea. Peace and tranquility had finally descended upon Longbourn for the first time since Elizabeth had accepted Fitzwilliam's proposal.

Hours later, the family had invited Fitzwilliam to sit down to dine with them and he had agreed most graciously. Elizabeth had then spent the evening lightly teasing and even flirting with her betrothed, drawing the story of the banished Mr Collins out of him and enjoying herself far more than she reasonably should after such a vexing day. She bid her husband-to-be an affectionate farewell when he left for the evening and accepted a clandestine, yet chaste, kiss from him at the door.

Once Fitzwilliam had climbed atop his horse and ridden away toward Netherfield, Elizabeth had closed the door and turned around to find her father standing at the top of the stairs looking down upon her. She blushed slightly upon realizing what he must have seen.

"Would you come into the library for a moment?" he asked, stepping to the side so that he could indicate the open portal to his sanctuary.

"Of course," Elizabeth agreed, though she suspected her father was not so much_ asking_ as he was _telling_ her to attend him. She ascended the staircase with trepidation boiling in her stomach and fighting off the renewed image of meeting a fire breathing dragon in his lair.

Once the two of them were safely ensconced inside, Mr Bennet closed the door to the hallway behind them and took a seat behind his desk. Elizabeth placed herself in the chair that was most frequently assigned to her by the window rather than the one immediately before him and settled in as comfortably as she could. She expected that he wished to discuss Lady Catherine's visit, Mr Collins' execrable behavior or even her own in regard to Fitzwilliam, but she was surprised when he opened his speech with an apology.

"I am sorry, Lizzy," he said with a sigh as he whipped his spectacles from his face and tossed them onto the top of his desk. They skidded a little ways across the polished surface until being obstructed by a tottering pile of books. "I have not been a good father to you lately."

"I...," Elizabeth paused, blinking at him, "I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, Papa. What can you be apologizing for?"

"I think we both know," he replied, but elaborated, "I was blaming you for something that was, ultimately, my fault. Had I not been so fixated on laughing at your mother and sisters at the ball, I would have noticed that you were unwell before the situation had gotten out of hand. I am not much of a drinker myself, but I have more experience in the world and know what it looks like when someone has had more than their limit. I am sorry, my love, for leaving you unprotected that night so that Darcy..." Here Mr Bennet stopped, his face wrought into an expression of utmost distaste and revulsion, unable to continue his thought.

"Papa," Elizabeth began, but she hardly knew how to continue. What had happened during the Netherfield Ball had been no one's fault, precisely, but rather an unfortunate series of events which led to an incident that none of them could have predicted, beginning with Elizabeth herself plaguing Fitzwilliam about his supposed sins against Mr Wickham. His chastising response had created such confusion within her that she had failed to notice her inebriation until it had become necessary to put her to bed upstairs. Fitzwilliam had then, in his own intoxicated state, come upstairs to check on her and...well, none of them could have foreseen that she would not leave Netherfield with her virtue in tact. And then, of course, there was Mr Hurst's contribution to the debacle; had he not spiked the punch, Elizabeth would have returned home to Longbourn and she and Darcy likely would have parted ways the next morning and never seen each other again. All these little circumstances had come together to create what had happened and there was no specific blame to attribute to any one person.

"You must not be too severe upon yourself," Elizabeth finally said, though it was inadequate. She had never seen her father so cast down and shamed before. "It was...unfortunate, perhaps, but no one's fault."

"You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so prone to fall into it!" he replied with a harsh chuckle at his own expense. "No, Lizzy, let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression. It will pass away soon enough."

"Oh, Papa..."

"But tell me, my child, do you believe that my folly has, perhaps, had a tolerably good end?" he asked, leaning forward to prop his elbows upon his knees and gaze at her more directly. His deep green eyes were locked upon hers with serious purpose. "Will you be happy with him?"

Finally, something Elizabeth could answer with some level of confidence! "I believe so, Papa. Fitzwilliam is...he is not who I thought he was at first," she admitted with a chagrined smile. "He is so much more than a snobbish rich man who could not be bothered to dance with me. He is trustworthy and honorable, loyal beyond reason and, for some reason, apparently loves me very much. I truly believe that he will care for me to the best of his abilities."

Mr Bennet reached out for his daughter's hand and plucked it from her lap. He held it within his palm and stroked his thumb across her knuckles as he asked, "_His_ feelings are not to be wondered at, as you are a very great treasure, but how do _you_ feel, my love?"

This question was much more difficult to answer, but instinctively Elizabeth knew that she was falling in love with Fitzwilliam. She would not say such to her father in so many words, it was not for him to hear, but she could nod and reply, "I...I am content with how things are, Papa. I wish very much to marry Fitzwilliam in a few weeks and hope that you can be comfortable with my choice."

"Well, my dear," said Mr Bennet, leaning back to sit more comfortably in his chair but still retaining possession of her hand, "I have no more to say. If this be the case, then I will hope that he endeavors to deserve you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy."

Elizabeth smiled and stood to kiss her father upon his balding head. She returned to her seat and queried, "May I ask what brought on this sudden desire for reconciliation?"

Mr Bennet chuckled again, this time with more true mirth than before. "Lady Catherine."

Elizabeth barked a laugh and then covered her mouth with her free hand, her eyes glittering with humor. "I see. Well, Fitzwilliam tells me she does love being useful. What, specifically, did her ladyship say or do to convince you to speak to me?"

"When I looked out the window and saw your young man rush up to protect you – not that you needed it, my dear, you seemed to be fighting the old gorgon fairly well yourself – from his aunt, I realized what a fool I was being, having treated you little better recently than Lady Catherine with all her unreasonable demands. Moreover, it reminded me that it was still _my_ duty to protect you, not his. I could not let Darcy have all the glory, could I?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I suppose not. But did you not know Lady Catherine was in the house before that?"

"I did," he admitted with a grimace, "but when the shouting stopped I assumed she had left and I was not required to step in. To my shame, I hid in here and allowed her to go unchallenged in my house because it was easier than getting involved. It was not until somewhat later that I looked out the window and saw Darcy charging up the lawn."

"Oh, _Papa_!"

"Yes, yes, I know," replied Mr Bennet, patting the hand he still held. "I shall do better next time and take action. However, this incident did help me resolve my anger, so perhaps it all turned out as it should. Had your young man not shown me an example of true gallantry, and Lady Catherine the true ugliness I myself was guilty of, I might never have seen my own behavior for exactly what it was."

With another sigh, Elizabeth shook her head and dismissed herself for the night. It had been a long, vexing day and she hoped to try for a better one on the morrow.

"Goodnight, my dear," said Mr Bennet as she kissed him once again upon his bald spot.

Elizabeth wrapped her arms about his neck and squeezed as she used to when she was but a little girl. He patted her on the forearm as she replied, "Goodnight, Papa."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Ding-dong, the witch and her flying monkey are gone! Suck it, Catherine and Collins.

I struggled with this chapter, but I think it ultimately came out as it should, particularly the scene with Lady Catherine. I still feel like this story is paced a little fast – probably because Lady Catherine only got a glorified cameo – but I hope that the extra long chapters have ameliorated some of this. Next, we deal with...sorry, no spoilers :)

Also, the reviews from the last chapter greatly amused me; it seems that anytime I give Caroline the set down (which, it occurs to me, I probably do more frequently than I should) it sends the readers into a tizzy of "take THAT, bitch" and that makes me giggle. Love y'all, seriously, and can't wait to see what you think of Collins and Lady Cat's unceremonious exit.

I stupidly added three more chapters to this thing, so the update schedule is going to be different. Instead of pushing back the completion date, which would also affect the posting schedule for "Dare to Refuse Such a Man," I'm going to be posting on Mondays and Thursdays to make up the difference, meaning more updates for you AND a (slightly) earlier completion date. DRSM chapters will still be posted on alternating Fridays until the end of the month when we switch to weekly updates.

**Next Update:** February 7, 2020  
**Expected Completion Date:** February 20, 2020

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	10. Chapter Ten: Not Wholly Without Hope

**Title: **Under the Influence  
**Rating:** M – for sexual situations just this side of explicit.  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting: **Regency

**Summary:** A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"As for Wickham...he bore with philosophy the conviction that Elizabeth must now become acquainted with whatever of his ingratitude and falsehood had before been unknown to her; and in spite of every thing, was not wholly without hope that Darcy might yet be prevailed upon to make his fortune."

_Pride and Prejudice_, Volume III, Chapter 19

* * *

_**Chapter Ten: **Not Wholly Without Hope_

Darcy  
_Friday December 20, 1811_

After nearly three weeks of comparative tranquility at Longbourn, the wedding between Darcy and Elizabeth was nigh and was set to take place in less than a week – a mere six days hence – and the groom was restless with waiting. He was fortunate to have an errand to distract him, but unfortunate in that it would take him away from his lovely bride until the following Monday. Darcy dearly wished that he could take Elizabeth with him, but until his ring was upon her finger it would be egregiously improper to do so. So, off to London he was to go, completely by his lonesome, to collect the marriage articles he had requested of his solicitor and bring back his sister and cousin for the ceremony.

Before he departed Hertfordshire for the capital, however, Darcy could not resist one more stop at Longbourn to bid his bride a longing farewell. And so, with his horse lingering on the drive and Elizabeth huddled close to his side for warmth, the couple sauntered about on the lawn and conversed quietly with one another.

"I will miss you," he admitted softly, his breath rising into the air as a visible cloud.

Elizabeth laughed and tipped her head to one side so that it rested against his shoulder. "You will miss being teased mercilessly and caught up in all my various troubles?"

"Yes."

"I think we shall get along fine throughout the years, then," she quipped with another chuckle. "If you can tolerate my foolishness now, I am quite certain that you will be fond of it when we are both old and gray."

"I am fond of it now," Darcy replied, truthfully. He had never been fortunate enough to know someone quite like Elizabeth Bennet and was certain he never would again, unless their children should take after her. All the turmoil at the start of their engagement had been worth it to achieve her agreement to marry him and now, he hoped, her willingness to follow through on this promise was less grudging than it had been before.

After a long, comfortable pause, Elizabeth sighed and tilted her head back to look at him beyond the rim of her bonnet. Her mouth was smiling, but her fine eyes were sad. "I wish you did not have to go."

Darcy was a little startled by this confession. Though he had wished for an improvement in her opinion of him, and had even reasoned himself into almost believing that he had achieved such, it was something else to hear it from her own lips. "Truly?"

"Truly," she replied. "After all we have been through these past weeks, seeing you nearly every day since our _incident_, I shall not know what to do with myself without you near – it is really quite pitiful. Once we are married, you will not be able to shake me!"

Though her tone was one of levity, it was also infused with sincerity and Darcy felt himself unable to respond for a long moment. Were he to say anything, even a single word, he was sure his voice would crack in a most unmanly way and so he waited until the thickness in his throat abated before saying, "I shall attempt no such thing, madam. Once we are married, I shall be constantly at your side."

Elizabeth's smile grew wider and her eyes warmed with the cheerfulness which had been absent before. "Good."

A single snowflake drifted lazily down from the sky at that moment and rested upon the warm, red apple of her cheek. By the time Elizabeth reached up with her gloved hand to sweep it away, it had melted and smeared across her skin like a tear. Darcy brought his own hand higher so that he might stroke the remainder with his thumb and, in nearly the same motion, leaned down to press his lips against hers. Elizabeth sighed into his mouth and accepted his affection gladly. How far they had come!

It was Elizabeth who pulled back from the embrace, though she lingered near enough for him to feel the heat of her breath against his cold cheeks. He raised his eyelids just enough to see hers fluttering open, her lashes like dark, delicate butterflies, and they simply looked at one another as more flurries drifted down from the sky around them.

"You had better go," she said, her tone laced with regret, "before the weather gets any worse. I would not wish for you to meet with an accident on your way because I kept you here too long."

Though Darcy hated to, he was forced to agree. It was better to go now rather than risk bad roads later, particularly since he had declined Bingley's generous offer of a carriage to transport him to Darcy House and would be making the trip on horseback. It would be faster, at least, though he was not looking forward to the chill. "I will be back as soon as possible, tomorrow if I can. Monday at the latest."

"I will hold you to that promise, as well, sir," Elizabeth replied, arching her neck and lowering her eyelids to grace him with one last, tender kiss. She fell back and retreated bodily from him, her wrap wound tightly around her shoulders, and Darcy steeled himself for departure.

Blackthorne was led to him by Mr Hill, who had been standing by and pretending to see nothing of the pair's goodbyes, and Darcy mounted his stallion fluidly. Once he was seated in the saddle, he tipped his hat to his small party of well wishers and said, "I will see you soon, Elizabeth. Mr Hill," before tugging on the reins and kicking his steed into motion.

Just once, at the end of the lane which would turn him toward Meryton, Darcy glanced over his shoulder at Longbourn. Elizabeth, though blurry at his current distance, was still standing there with her arm raised in a farewell wave. Darcy returned the gesture with a grin spread across his face.

o0o

An insignificant amount of time later, Darcy was plodding through Meryton atop Blackthorne with Elizabeth on his mind. It was pleasant – more than pleasant – to know that he would not be the only one between himself and Elizabeth who was yearning for the other during this separation. He still could not say for sure whether or not her feelings were equal to his, but at least she considered his presence with fondness and looked forward to his company in the future. More than that, she was eager to be married to him so that they might spend more time together. It might even be possible to make her love him.

Darcy was startled from his reflections by the roar of sudden, raucous laughter and turned his head in the direction of the disturbance. Spilling from the mouth of the local inn, which provided spirits the same as any other establishment of a similar nature, was a small troupe of redcoats. Though it was only just past breakfast time, the trio of soldiers appeared to be intoxicated (or perhaps were simply _still_ intoxicated from the previous night) as they stumbled out into the street on wobbly legs. In the center, with his arms congenially slung around the necks of his comrades, was Wickham.

Sneering at the scene, Darcy whipped his face forward again and did what he could to ignore his old foe, hoping that Wickham was too soused to notice his presence. Much as it had lately, however, trouble spotted him and a gratingly familiar voice called out, "Ho, Darcy! Not jilting your bride, are you?"

His hands tightened on the leather of Blackthorne's reins, pulling the horse to a stop in the middle of the snow-dusted lane. Darcy turned to the trio and glowered at them. "Of course not. I insist that you lower your voice and cease making such unfounded conjectures at once."

"It seems I have touched a nerve," Wickham said at the volume of a shout, probably just to irritate Darcy, to his friends. These same friends guffawed stupidly in response and one nearly fell over, saved only by the outside wall of the inn keeping him upright.

Darcy knew that there was no reasoning with drunkards (something he had recently experienced on a more personal level) and so nickered at his horse to move on.

Before Blackthorne could take more than a step, however, Darcy's attention was once again arrested by Wickham's crude assertions. "Go on, then. I shall see to your delectable Miss Elizabeth while you are away, though I cannot promise that she will want you back after."

This time, Darcy jerked the reins so sharply that Blackthorn reared back his head in protest and snorted. He apologized with a quick pat to the neck, using this same motion to calm the rage brewing deep within, before he dismounted. There was only a sprinkle of snow on the road so far, but his boots crunched when they made contact with it and each one of his strides as he approached Wickham with purpose were similarly loud to his ears. As he came upon his one time friend, the laughter of the three soldiers died a slow, gurgling death.

"You will stay away from Elizabeth," commanded Darcy through clenched teeth once he was close enough to threaten him quietly. They were less than a foot a part and Darcy could see Wickham's face drain of color.

The cowardly bounder staggered backwards a couple of steps, though he maintained the false bravado in his voice and swagger. "I assume the 'or else' is implied," Wickham quipped, darting his eyes to his drunken friends; in their state, they would be no help to him against an enraged Darcy. "Though I fail to see what you could possibly do to keep us apart. Elizabeth preferred me first, you know, and I suspect that she still – "

Darcy grabbed the front of Wickham's uniform and thrust him against the wall of the inn, right next to where his slovenly companion was utilizing it to keep his balance. The other soldier did nothing to interfere and simply blinked at the scene unfolding before him as if it were some sort of drunken hallucination.

"You will refer to my betrothed as 'Miss Bennet' or 'Miss Elizabeth' until she is married and then only '_Mrs Darcy_' once we have said our vows. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" Wickham's eyes were wide and his mouth was similarly gaping as Darcy pressed their faces close together, practically snarling in fury. "Or do you still require more specificity as to my intentions should you go against me in this?"

Wickham shook his head in the negative fashion, seemingly incapable of any other response.

"And you will stay away from her?"

Wickham nodded.

Darcy loosened his grip on Wickham's clothing and stepped back, the fumes of the alcohol on the other man's breath pungent and repellent to his senses. "So long as we understand one another. Good day, _gentlemen_."

After Darcy had mounted his horse and cantered away in a flurry of swirling snowflakes, the deep, disquieting feeling of having made a mistake began filling his gut. An ignored Wickham was a pest, but a vengeful one could be dangerous. He would need to be ready with a contingency.

o0o

_Monday December 23, 1811_

A short, slightly portly man with a grim expression stood next to Darcy's desk in his London study, rifling through a thick stack of papers within his left hand. He appeared to be perusing the contents of each sheet, cataloging them somehow. "And this is all of them, sir?"

"Not quite," replied Darcy as he sanded the letter he had just completed and then began folding it in upon itself. As he dripped wax upon the open edge, he continued, "My cousin should return momentarily with more. He found another source and was required to await the proprietors to open this morning before he could collect."

"Very well."

Darcy sealed the letter with a firm press of his ring, his family crest gleaming at him set within the drying crimson wax, and then flipped it over to address it to its intended recipient. In firm, even script, he scribed "Colonel Forster" before then handing it over to his dour compatriot.

As the man accepted the missive and added it to the stack of papers he already held, Darcy thanked him. "I appreciate your diligence in this matter, Mr Payne, especially so close to Christmas. You will have a generous bonus for your troubles."

"Not at all, Mr Darcy," said Mr Payne, his secretary and general man of business. He had performed the same office for Darcy's father before his passing five years earlier and had been a loyal, circumspect employee of their family for more than a decade now. "I am pleased to assist in the capture of Mr Wickham. It was never my place to say, of course, but I was...reluctant whenever your father requested my services in assisting that young man. It was almost always involving something disreputable."

Darcy said nothing to this, but with a raised eyebrow he silently agreed with Mr Payne. His soft-hearted father had been far too generous to the scab far too many times and blindly gullible to Wickham's myriad excuses for his poor behavior. "Once Richard arrives with the last of the debt receipts, you can be on your way to Hertfordshire. See that they and that letter are put into Colonel Forster's hand directly and without delay."

"I will, sir."

Almost as if summoned by supernatural means, the door to the study flew open a few seconds later to admit the person of Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam waving a smaller stack of pages over his head. He was grinning in vindictive triumph as he handed them over to Mr Payne and cried, "There you are, my fine fellow! See that the scoundrel does not escape this time."

"I shall do my best, sir," replied Mr Payne, a small smile inching across his face. "Now, I am off – unless there is anything else you wish for me to deliver?"

Both men looked to Darcy, who could not suppress a slight blush as he reached into his desk drawer and withdrew a second letter, this one addressed to simply "Elizabeth." Mr Payne accepted it without comment, bowed to his employer and the colonel and then departed from the room.

"God speed," called Richard over his shoulder as Mr Payne disappeared into the hallway. He received no reply in response, but then one was not to be expected. Turning back to Darcy, he gleefully clapped his hands and rubbed them together with relish. "I only wish I could be there to see the expression on Old Salt's face when they clap him in irons. Truly, Darcy, you have outdone yourself with your gift to me this year."

"I did not do it for _you_," reminded Darcy, "but I am glad that you are pleased."

Richard threw himself into the chair in front of Darcy's desk and toed his shoes off, exposing his stocking feet to the warmth of the room. "Ahh...that's better. And yes, I am fully aware that your loyalties now lie with your Elizabeth, but do not worry on my account, cuz – I am not the jealous sort."

"That is _Miss_ Elizabeth to you."

Guffawing, Richard replied, "Come now, Darce! She is to be my cousin mere days from now, surely I am allowed a certain amount of informality? From the way you describe her, I doubt that she will mind."

Darcy sighed and levied himself up from his own chair, abandoning his quill to the blotter as he rose. He stalked to the fireplace under the premise of adjusting the logs, but he must have jostled them too forcefully with the poker because his cousin pursued him verbally from his position by the desk.

"What is the matter?" asked Richard. Darcy did not bother to turn and look at him, instead focusing on his fierce struggle with the crumbling wood in the grate. "I had thought you pleased to be caught in the parson's mousetrap. Have you got cold feet?"

Of all the stupid, insulting – "No, of course not!"

"Then what is it?" Richard pressed, more seriously than before.

Darcy sighed and gave in to his cousin's persistence, knowing that to struggle against it was futile and not having the energy to put up much of a fight. "It is Wickham."

Richard scoffed at him, sitting up straighter in his seat with an incredulous expression unfolding upon his face. "Do not tell me you are having second thoughts about finally giving that wastrel what has been coming to him all these years! I do not care how much your father liked him, he has crossed the line with Georgiana and now your Elizabeth – "

Darcy hung the poker back in its stand with more force than required, causing the iron implements to clang against one another. "Of course not! Even were I inclined toward leniency – which I most assuredly am not – the deed is done. Mr Payne will see to it and I suspect he is nearly as eager as you are to give him his comeuppance."

Richard grimaced. "Daughter?"

"Niece."

After a heavy exhalation, Richard continued, "So what is it, then?"

"I...Wickham reminded me on my way to town how Elizabeth used to prefer him to me," Darcy muttered, feeling foolish even as he said it. He should not allow anything Wickham said to bother him, especially in regards to Elizabeth who had shown no glimmer of anything other than contempt for his former friend since the events surrounding the Netherfield Ball, but without her constant reassuring presence some of the insecurity born the day of his nearly failed proposal had risen to torment him. He did his best to hold onto the images of his sweet bride reaching up to kiss him goodbye before he left her, but invariably the taunting words of Wickham would superimpose themselves upon the scene and ruin it.

"_I fail to see what you could possibly do to keep us apart. Elizabeth preferred me first, you know_," the wastrel had taunted, likely only to get a rise out of Darcy. He knew this much, rationally, but there was always a seed of truth in anything that Wickham said or did that made his lies plausible to his target. Elizabeth had believed him about Darcy's supposedly dastardly shortcomings because he had spoken in half-truths and preyed upon her already formed belief in Darcy's arrogance and disdain for the feelings of others. Thus, it was difficult to entirely discount Wickham's assertions and Darcy had been agonizing over the state of Elizabeth's affections for the both of them since. Did she still feel an interest in Wickham's concerns, despite everything Darcy had told her about him? Did she still feel resentment for how their own engagement had come about? Did she still see him as the arrogant, haughty prig who had insulted her at first glance?

"Even if that were the case," Richard replied, folding his arms across his chest and slumping down into his chair, the picture of exasperation, "it certainly is not now. Women are not stupid and they _despise_ being lied to, something I have learned myself at great cost." He waved the back of one of his hands at Darcy where four tiny, perfectly spaced scars marred his skin at the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

Despite his mood, Darcy could not resist a smirk and a breathy chuckle at his cousin's expense. "Which one was that, again? Miss Dalton?"

"Miss Sterling," Richard corrected, "you should remember because she jabbed me with her fork."

"You are correct; that makes perfect sense."

"In any event, it does not matter which of my former paramours left the scar or how appropriately named she was when she committed the act," Richard said, moving the conversation along past their little detour. "What matters is that a woman's trust is a brittle thing and not easily mended. Even _if_ your Elizabeth favored Wickham at one point – and I refuse to give credence to that worm's assertion on whether or not it is raining until I am completely soaked through – she will not continue to do so now. Likely as not, she will cut him should they meet again."

"Or stab him with an eating utensil?"

"Har, har."

Darcy sighed and wandered back to his desk where his own chair waited to receive him. He slumped down into it and admitted, "You are right, of course."

"Naturally."

"It is just…," here, Darcy paused and considered how much to say. He had already confided in his cousin about the incident which had prompted an immediate proposal and several of the events following – Richard had laughed uproariously at Elizabeth's handling of Aunt Catherine and proclaimed that he was going to conscript his bride to take care of Napoleon – but had left out many of the details about Elizabeth's reluctance to agree to it. Darcy felt great shame for how he had behaved prior to his engagement, having painfully realized how much he had to atone for and how easily Elizabeth could have slipped away from him. Had he not compromised her utterly, Darcy felt that she would have continued to refuse him.

"Just…?" Richard prompted.

Darcy sighed again. "Elizabeth did not exactly like me very much when I proposed. She said I was arrogant – "

"Which you are."

" – and disdainful – "

"Right again. Clever girl."

"_Richard_."

His cousin grinned at him, daring Darcy to contradict, which of course he could not.

"I am aware of all that, but the point is she nearly rejected me because of it," Darcy finished with no small degree of irritation. "The morning after we parted, I came to render a proper offer and she said 'no' because she could not like me. Aside from anything Wickham said – which at that point she was disposed to ignore – she objected to my behavior. When we first met, I even said..." he trailed off, finding it difficult to verbalize his greatest sin against Elizabeth.

"Yes…?"

"It is not important."

"Obviously it is if she nearly refused you for it," countered Richard, "and your unwillingness to repeat it makes me all the more suspicious. Out with it."

"I do not – "

"Just tell Old Richard, your favorite cousin!"

"No."

"Come, Darcy, I can sit here with your brandy all night if I have to."

"It is barely noon."

Richard's grin was smug as he settled himself more comfortably within the plush boundaries of his armchair. "All the more reason you should tell me now and get rid of me."

Completely exasperated, Darcy huffed and gave in. "Fine – I said she was not 'tolerable enough to tempt me,' are you happy?"

To the contrary, Richard looked appalled. "You did not!"

"To my shame, I did," replied Darcy, lowering his eyes to his lap where his hands were knotted together and his thumbs were fidgeting with one another. "When we first met...well, we had not been introduced, actually, Bingley pointed her out to me as a prospective dance partner. I was in a snit over being dragged out into strange company on my first evening there and, when he pressed me to join the set, I grew impatient with him and took it out on her. I at first thought she had not heard me, but apparently she had."

"That much is obvious, if she would even consider refusing a man such as yourself," commented Richard, dryly. "How did you ever atone enough to convince her to marry you? Aside from the obvious."

Darcy shrugged, still looking at his hands. "I apologized and informed her that I had been mistaken, that she is, in fact, the handsomest woman of my acquaintance."

"Very good."

"I meant it."

"I am sure you did."

"So now do you see why I question her preference for Wickham over myself?" Darcy asked, returning to the related subject which was only slightly less painful than his own failings. He glanced up at his cousin as he said, "He used his silver tongue to flatter her and denigrate me and she believed him."

Richard was still shaking his head over Darcy's stupidity. "It does make more sense, yes, but I still think that you are being unnecessarily harsh on yourself. Your Elizabeth's opinion has been improving, has it not?"

"I believe it has..."

"Then you are worrying over nothing," said Richard with finality. "A girl like that will not bother to hide her disdain from you and she would likely have had you drawn and quartered by now if she had not sensed improvement in your manners. You _have_ been improving, have you not?"

Darcy shrugged. "I believe so. I have been trying."

"Then that is all there is to say on the subject," Richard proclaimed. "Now, get me a brandy. It might be early, but I nearly froze to death out there."

o0o

_Tuesday December 24, 1811_

Early the next morning, Christmas Eve, Darcy was preparing with all haste to leave for Hertfordshire. Regardless of his dealings with Wickham or his own insecurities over Elizabeth's feelings for him, his wedding was scheduled for the day after Christmas and he was already later returning than he had promised his bride initially. Worse, they were much delayed in departing today, meaning that they would not arrive in Hertfordshire until early evening when the Bennets' dinner party in honor of the holiday and the engagement would be in full swing; they would have to go there directly or be unpardonably late. He had already sent an express note ahead of them to Bingley insisting that he and the rest of the Netherfield party not wait for their arrival.

With his outerwear donned, his sister and cousin waiting for him in the vestibule and a light breakfast sitting heavily in his stomach, he was – finally – ready to go.

"Wait," he said to his traveling party as the butler opened the door for all of them to exit through. He patted his chest where he knew pockets were located, but did not feel the crinkle of paper within. "I have forgotten the settlement."

Richard chuckled at his cousin for his absentmindedness. "Make sure that you have not also forgotten the ring, Darce."

"Be kind," Georgiana admonished, nudging Richard in the ribs with her elbow.

Darcy fixed a stony expression on his face, one eyebrow raised, and directed it at his elder cousin. "I thank you for your concern, but the ring is safely packed with my trunks. The settlement papers are on my desk."

"Shall I fetch it for you, sir?" offered the butler.

"No, thank you, Clarence; I shall go as it would be more laborious to explain where they are than it would be to fetch them myself." Darcy waved his hand toward the front door and directed his next comment to his relations. "Go ahead to the carriage, I won't be a moment."

As Richard and Georgiana descended the front steps toward the gleaming black equipage parked out front of the townhouse, Darcy scurried quickly down the hall toward his study. He remembered perusing the marriage articles one final time the night before and then setting them aside...somewhere. Normally he was more fastidious with his filing, but it had been nearly midnight when he had finally snuffed his candle and trundled off to bed, his worries still weighing heavily upon his shoulders.

At his desk, Darcy shuffled through the pile of orderly, if not quite organized, papers sitting at the corner of his desk. The marriage articles were halfway down and bundled together. Once he had confirmed that all the pages were accounted for – and that there were three separate copies of each – he folded them up, tied them off and slipped them into the inside pocket of his jacket.

As he was leaving, his attention was caught by the sharp gleam of the silver salver which was intended to hold all of his incoming post. There was a small stack of letters resting there, all of which he had ignored during his hunt for Wickham's debts, and he determined to grab them on his way out and peruse them in the carriage. He reached out his warmly gloved hand and scooped them up.

Darcy walked out of his study and proceeded down the hall back to the foyer where the butler was still waiting to open the door for him. Darcy nodded to Clarence, who bowed deeply in return, wished him a happy Christmas and then hastily exited through the designated portal. As he descended the steps out front, he glanced down at the pile of letters, intending to determine the importance of each, and was arrested by the handwriting on the one that rested on top of the others. It was addressed simply to "Fitzwilliam" in soft, elegant, rounded letters – the handwriting of a woman.

Standing with one foot on a lower step and another perched upon a higher, Darcy wrestled with the red wax seal on the back of this missive, his heart beating rapidly within his chest. His gloved fingers were clumsy and blunted, but he managed to open it without tearing the paper. It said:

_December 23, 1811_

_Longbourn, Hertfordshire_

_Dearest Fitzwilliam,_

_ Mr Payne was kind enough to stop by Longbourn to deliver your letter this afternoon and equally kind to await my reply. I must scold you, sir, for breaking your promise to return by today as I have been anticipating your arrival with much impatience. Mr Payne, as kindly as he is, is no substitute. I therefore beg that you admit no further delays and return to me as soon as feasible before my mother drives me mad with her fretfulness; she is convinced that you will drop dead of some spontaneous illness or a carriage accident before the wedding and will not listen to reason. When I told her that you were just as likely to meet with some calamity in Hertfordshire as in London, she was not amused and accused me of having no consideration for her poor nerves. _

_ All teasing aside, I sincerely await your return with breathless anticipation. I have missed your presence, as I warned you I would, and expect to see you immediately upon your arrival with no excuses. I look forward to our wedding day with a similar degree of impatience._

_ Yours,_

_ Elizabeth_

Darcy felt lighter than he had since leaving Hertfordshire as if a strand of boulders had suddenly been removed from his neck. She missed him! She wished for his return! She was waiting for him – impatiently!

"Are you coming, or not?" called the testy voice of Richard from within the carriage. Darcy looked up to see his cousin and sister both watching him through the window, questioning his decision to stand out in the December cold with his post rather than in the comparatively warmer confines of the family equipage.

"Yes," replied Darcy, somewhat breathlessly. "Let's go."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Argh...I thought of a good idea for how to use Wickham and added three chapters. Stupid Mary. But this was fun to write in any case. I hope that Colonel Fitzwilliam cut Darcy's brooding with his quippy-ness because I didn't want to dampen the romance so close to our HEA. I always enjoy writing the colonel, he's such a fun, loveable rascal who can say all the irreverent things I'm thinking :)

Just as a reminder, instead of extending the completion deadline and pushing back the deadline for "Dare to Refuse Such a Man" as a consequence, I'm going to update twice/week to make up the difference, specifically on Mondays and Thursdays. This story will still conclude with the epilogue on February 20, 2020.

**Next Update: **February 10, 2020

**Completion Date:** February 20, 2020

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	11. Chapter Eleven: If She Can Prevent It

**Title: **Under the Influence  
**Rating:** M – for sexual situations just this side of explicit.  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting: **Regency

**Summary:** A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care of myself, and of Mr Wickham too. He shall not be in love with me, if I can prevent it."

– Elizabeth Bennet, _Pride and Prejudice_ Volume II, Chapter 3

* * *

_**Chapter ****Eleven****:** If She Can Prevent It_

Elizabeth  
_Tuesday December 24, 1811_

_Monday December 23, 1811  
__Darcy House, London_

_Dearest Elizabeth, _

_ I know you expected my arrival by today, but some pressing business has come up that prevents my departure until the morrow. Know that only the most urgent matters will ever keep me from your side, now and in the future, and that I long to be with you even as I write this. _

_ I will be at Longbourn early as possible in the morning and anxiously await our reunion, as I hope you do. I will only add to these sentiments,_

_ God Bless, _

_ FD_

Elizabeth lowered the short missive from her fiance to her lap with an impatient sigh. Already it was late afternoon and another of Fitzwilliam's promises was broken, though she supposed he had not meant to do so. His words of longing for her company seemed sincere, even in austere print, and she was certain that he was on his way now. However, she would be most pleased when their marriage had taken place and she could simply follow him wherever he went without raising any eyebrows.

It had been a startling thought only days ago that Elizabeth would not only miss Fitzwilliam's presence but also that she eagerly awaited their wedding day. After the 'incident,' everything about her perception of him had changed; instead of considering him aloof, he was now admitted to be uncomfortable with strangers; instead of a decided villain who preyed upon the downtrodden, he was an honorable man who had stood by her throughout tribulations; instead of prideful...well, he was still that, but now she felt as if he had an excuse for it rather than simply thinking himself above his company in a country neighborhood.

Now, if only he would return.

A soft knock on the outside of her bedroom door drew Elizabeth's attention and she, from her position where she sat upon the edge of her bed, called for the person or persons to enter. As the portal slowly opened, Elizabeth belatedly remembered the letter on her lap and folded it back into thirds before tucking it beneath her leg where it would not be seen.

She needn't have bothered, however, because it was her Aunt Gardiner paying a visit and that estimable lady would never pry into the contents of someone else's letter like her mother and younger sisters might. "Aunt Gardiner! To what do I owe this honor?"

To her mild surprise, Mrs Gardiner quietly shut the door behind her before approaching, a soft smile upon her features. "I have come to speak with you, Lizzy, about an important matter. May I sit?"

"Yes, of course." Elizabeth slid a little more to the left to make room upon the mattress edge for her aunt, waving her hand toward the spot in welcome. She could not imagine what Aunt Gardiner wished to speak about, but by the placidity of her countenance and air Elizabeth supposed it must not be _too_ serious.

"I had intended to speak with you before now," admitted Mrs Gardiner, "but I have yet found a private moment. I thought now, while the rest of the family is preparing for the party tonight, would be a good time."

Elizabeth agreed that she was at leisure, having already dressed in a deep green evening frock and now only awaited her turn with the maid to see to her hair. As Lydia and Kitty more often than not claimed Sarah for themselves immediately and took up an inordinate amount of her time, Elizabeth assumed that she had at least an hour to wait before her turn came.

Before beginning whatever subject she intended to discuss, Aunt Gardiner took a deep breath. "I know that this is usually the providence of a mother, but as Fanny is...well, I thought you might prefer to receive this information from myself. It is about your wedding night."

Immediately, Elizabeth flushed. Her aunt smiled in return, a certain knowing quality about her expression with one eyebrow raised slightly, likely assuming that her niece was flustered by the mere idea of marital relations. In actuality, Elizabeth's change in color was more a combination of shame for knowing that there was no need for Aunt Gardiner's apparently prepared speech and general embarrassment in regards to some of her more recent salacious thoughts about Fitzwilliam. Should she tell her dearest aunt, who in some ways had been more of a mother to her than Mrs Bennet had been, and face the disappointment Mrs Gardiner would inevitably express?

Elizabeth opened her mouth, ready to divulge her shameful secret, and then closed it again without saying anything when she recalled the eavesdropping incident with Mr Collins. She was certain that she could trust her aunt's discretion as Mrs Gardiner, much like Jane, had been a long time confidante, but what if there was someone lurking at her door? Her nosy, meddling cousin was gone, but Kitty and Lydia were in residence and were entirely unacquainted with the concept of discretion. Her mother almost equally so. No, she could not risk it, much as she longed to divulge it to her dear relation.

When Elizabeth said nothing for several stretched moments, Aunt Gardiner took her opportunity to begin. "Now Lizzy, I know that you have likely heard some...unfavorable things about a wife's marital duties, but I want you to know that there is nothing to be concerned about. The first time can sometimes be a mite uncomfortable, but any pain you experience will be small and brief. After that, it is often a wonderful experience between man and wife which, more often than not, brings them closer together. It is an important, emotional intimacy as much as it is a physical one – particularly when a couple cares for one another, as I understand that you and your Mr Darcy do."

Elizabeth felt the heat in her cheeks intensify and looked down toward her lap where her fingers were laced together into a knot. She picked at one thumbnail with the other as her aunt continued.

"Now, when your husband comes to you, he will likely wish to kiss and touch you" –

– warm, glowing images of Fitzwilliam tipping himself forward to press his lips against hers, his tongue wet against the seam between them, and his hands roaming to forbidden places rose to the surface of Elizabeth's consciousness –

– "and will probably want to undress you" –

– the slide of thin muslin across her skin, tickling her as it whispered over her thighs –

– "and you should not feel shy to participate. Men often appreciate it when their wives do something other than lie there. Reciprocate" –

– her own hands reaching out to tangle in his curls, tugging gently to guide him on top of her in some instinctive understanding of what needed to happen next –

– "and when he is ready, he will place himself between your legs and put his member inside of you" –

– there had been awkward fumbling as Fitzwilliam sought to both continue kissing her and also guide himself toward her apex simultaneously, and he swore in frustration when it proved impossible to do both at once –

– "and he will move back and forth until he achieves completion. As undignified as it sounds, if you have seen animals around the farm copulating, it is much the same" –

– Fitzwilliam grunted in her ear much like a beast, but in between these guttural sounds he whispered endearments of love against her throat –

– "Do you have any questions, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth looked up from her tangled, fidgeting hands and shook her head in the negative fashion. "No, Aunt, that was very...explicit."

Mrs Gardiner smiled soothingly and reached out to pat Elizabeth's knee. "It sounds much more frightening than it is, dear. Truly, it can be very enjoyable between partners who wish to make it so and will bring you closer to your husband."

"Thank you, Aunt."

"Now, there is one further thing that needs to be discussed, and that is the signs that you are with child," continued Mrs Gardiner, more briskly than before.

This would be useful information, indeed, as even now Elizabeth could be carrying the consequences of her inebriated tryst with Fitzwilliam. She sat up straighter upon her quilt, mastering the discomfort of the past few minutes, and looked at Mrs Gardiner attentively. "Oh?" she prompted.

Her aunt shifted a little, finding a more comfortable position, and began, "Yes. Once you begin sharing your husband's bed, it is imperative that you know the signs so that you might be on the watch for them when they appear. It only takes one single instance of conjugal relations to beget a child, though it may still take months – or even years – to do so. However, it is something that every bride must know straightaway in case a babe comes early on."

Elizabeth flinched a little at the thought of an early babe, but understood that her aunt was not implying what she was thinking. She refocused her attention on what Aunt Gardiner was saying, knowing that this information was important and that she would need to review it carefully to determine her current condition.

"First and foremost, your courses will cease," said Mrs Gardiner and something inside Elizabeth relaxed significantly; she had experienced her "monthly friend" – a euphemism her mother was fond of – two weeks prior, "and you will feel tired frequently, to the point you will feel incapable of your regular activities."

The relief was becoming stronger; she had been as energetic as ever since the incident, save for whenever she had been forced to deal with her mother or Mr Collins. That exhaustion, however, had been more a result of exercising patience beyond her normal endurance, however.

"And you might also feel some tenderness in your bosom," continued Aunt Gardiner, "as well as a persistent queasiness, particularly in the morning or when you have not eaten recently. Some smells or particular foods might also agitate your stomach or you could become physically ill, but none of these things are anything to concern yourself over; they are a perfectly normal, if vexing, part of the condition."

As Elizabeth was able to cross more symptoms off her internal list, she began to feel entirely at peace. Aside from the continuation of her monthly bleeding and her lack of inexplicable exhaustion, she had experienced no stomach ailments, aversion to scents or comestibles and, in general, she was at peak health. Fitzwilliam would be pleased –

– or would he? Honestly, Elizabeth was unsure; every man wished for an heir sooner rather than later, but it would certainly be less embarrassing for a babe to come more than the minimum amount of time after the wedding vows. Even those of society who would be watching Elizabeth's belly with interest, expecting a squalling bundle to explain Fitzwilliam's choice of penniless country bride, would be disappointed. And Lady Catherine would be able to prove nothing.

"Do you have any questions, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth smiled at her aunt and shook her head. "No, I believe you have covered everything. Thank you for being so...thorough."

Aunt Gardiner laughed and patted Elizabeth on the leg again, a sign of amused fondness. "I find it much easier to face new experiences with as much information as possible beforehand. Knowing you as well as I do, I had rather assumed that you would feel the same. Is it not the case?"

"It is," Elizabeth agreed, which was not untrue; in general, that was absolutely the case and the advice regarding signs of a coming child had been most enlightening. "I appreciate your candor. As you must have suspected, Mama told me to simply 'lie back and think of lace.'"

The ladies laughed at this characteristic advice from Mrs Bennet, clearing the awkwardness lingering between them.

"Well, now," said Mrs Gardiner as she began to rise, "I shall leave you to ready myself for the party. Feel free to find me again – or write to me, after you are married – if you require more clarification on anything related to being a wife. Though I am sure being Mistress of Pemberley is quite different from being married to a London tradesman, there will still be overlapping areas of interest, I am sure."

"I will, Aunt."

"Sarah! Where _is_ that girl?" Both Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner, now standing beside her niece's bed, heard the shriek of Mrs Bennet from beyond the closed door and the loud pattering of slippered feet as she raced up and down the corridor. "What are you doing in here? Never mind Miss Kitty's hair, girl – see to Elizabeth! She must look perfect for Mr Darcy – if he even shows up at all – "

Shaking her head, Mrs Gardiner tossed one more amused glance in Elizabeth's direction as she exited the room, sliding deftly between the door frame and a harried looking Sarah as she scurried inside. Mrs Bennet was not far behind, waving her handkerchief in a shooing motion toward the poor maid and issuing frantic instructions.

"No, no, Sarah! Have you gone blind?" complained Mrs Bennet as Sarah picked up the same ivory ribbon Elizabeth had worn in her hair to the Netherfield Ball. "She is wearing green tonight – use the gold. She must look like a queen!"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes as she sat herself in the chair before her vanity, not bothering to interject her own opinion. As Sarah braided and decorated her hair – utilizing both the gold and the ivory ribbon – she allowed her mind to drift toward Fitzwilliam, his letter and the wisdom her aunt had imparted.

o0o

A couple of hours later, the annual Bennet Christmas Eve party was in full swing, their sitting room packed with family, neighbors and officers making merry with one another. Their dinner table would be crowded, that was for certain, but most would consider the closeness to their nearest companion to be cozy rather than stifling. Fitzwilliam would probably detest it, but –

Elizabeth bit her lower lip as another stab of disappointment lanced through her breast at her betrothed's tardiness. It was already nearly time to dine and he still had yet to arrive. Fitzwilliam's letter had indicated affection and longing for her company, so she did not suspect him of growing cold feet, but she was getting impatient to see him and her mother's lamentations over his absence were growing tiresome.

Worse, however, was the fact that Mr Wickham was in attendance tonight in Fitzwilliam's place. She had rather hoped – vainly, as it turned out – that the cad would reason that his lies had been exposed once her betrothal to his much maligned former friend was announced, but apparently Mr Wickham was incapable of coming to such logical conclusions. Or perhaps he was simply incapable of feeling shame.

Either way, Mr Wickham had already made a point of addressing her in an overtly friendly manner upon coming into the house – "Miss Elizabeth! You are looking more lovely than ever. A man would have to be blind not to be susceptible to your charms." – and she often felt his eyes resting upon her from across the room. Elizabeth made a concentrated effort to maintain space between them, often finding a friend to speak with whenever she saw him approaching or fetching a guest a refreshment whenever she sensed him drawing closer, but he was persistent in his stalking. She had no doubt that, if she gave him an opening, he would take it and corner her. Elizabeth did not know, exactly, what Mr Wickham was after, but assumed that it must be in relation to her engagement with Fitzwilliam and, thus, that it could not be innocent.

Jane and Charlotte, both at least somewhat familiar with Mr Wickham's perfidy, ran interference where they could, but it was impossible to always be by Elizabeth's side when so many other social obligations intruded. More surprising, however, was that Colonel Forster had once stepped in to divert Mr Wickham's attention, his eyes cold and smile grim while Elizabeth made her escape to another corner. She did not understand why the lieutenant suddenly seemed so out of favor with his superior officer, but she was grateful nonetheless for the timely intervention. Mr Wickham had almost caught her under the mistletoe that time.

When she was not monitoring Mr Wickham's whereabouts in relation to her own, her gaze was flickering constantly toward the door to the sitting room and hoping, praying, that Fitzwilliam would walk through it. With him near, Mr Wickham would be forced to stay away and she would have the immeasurable relief of being with her absent fiance once more.

"Dinner is served," announced Mr Hill, bowing to the crowd within the room. The chatter died for a moment to listen to this message before it started up again, cheerful and rapid as the guests all rose and began maneuvering toward the door that would lead them into the meal.

Elizabeth followed the horde and had nearly reached the exit when her path was blocked by a red-coated chest. Equal parts defeated and exasperated, she raised her eyes away from the brass buttons on the uniform to rest upon the smugly grinning visage of Mr Wickham. "May I escort you in to dinner, Miss Elizabeth?"

Though she wanted to sigh – or refuse – Elizabeth reigned in her irritation with the persistent lieutenant and accepted the arm he presented to her, allowing the escort without vocalizing it directly. Causing a scene before nearly every person of her acquaintance was to be avoided, and so she reluctantly submitted to his request, intending to find some premise to part from him once they reached the dining room. He led her from the parlor at the back of the mass of other guests, moving forward slowly as if disinterested in actually achieving their destination.

Once they reached the vestibule, he stopped entirely under the guise of allowing Lady Lucas and Maria go ahead of them, but failed to resume motion after the two ladies had successfully bypassed them. Elizabeth waited, impatiently, for him to do so for a few long seconds, but Mr Wickham remained in place as the last of the guests disappeared into the dining room.

"Come, sir, or there shall be no seats for us," Elizabeth subtly but firmly admonished, tugging on the arm he had gifted her in the sitting room.

Mr Wickham did not give way, his feet planted upon the floorboards. "I had hoped to speak with you, Miss Elizabeth, on a matter of some importance. We will not be missed for a few minutes."

Elizabeth jerked her hand free of his arm and took a step backwards, toward the open door of the dining room which was positioned a little ways down the hall. The warm light of dozens of candles – wax, in honor of the special occasion – and genial rumble of conversation beckoned her as a beacon of safety. "I am sure there is nothing you can say to me which cannot be said in the presence of everyone else, Mr Wickham. Let us go in to dinner."

Mr Wickham shook his head and, finally, put a foot forward so that he was closer – much closer – to her. "I think we both know that is not true, Elizabeth."

"That is '_Miss Bennet_' to you, as my elder sister is not currently present," she reminded him with marked asperity. "Otherwise, you may address me as 'Miss Elizabeth' – or, better yet, not at all."

"I see that Darcy has been blackening my name again," said Mr Wickham and, she must give him credit, his tone was suffused with a false sincerity which she might have taken as genuine had she not already known of his malingering nature. As wounded as he sounded, his expression was more so, his eyes clenched shut in imaginary pain and the line of his jaw rigid. He sighed with implied heaviness before opening his eyes and looking at her with sorrowful supplication. "I had wondered why you would suddenly accept him after all I had revealed to you. The other officers surmised that you must have been dazzled by his wealth, but I knew that my Eliz...ahem, that _you_ could never be so shallow. No, he must have filled your head with lies to turn you against me."

"To the contrary, Mr Darcy has enlightened me to the _truth_, sir," Elizabeth countered through gritted teeth. "How you manipulated events to create a convincing tale of woe when, in fact, you were not only offered the position you appear to regret now but also refused it in lieu of an exorbitant sum!"

Mr Wickham's face clenched in the dim light of the corridor, a grimace that was meant to induce her sympathy, no doubt, for his supposedly aching heart. "I see you believe him over me. Did it not occur to you, _Miss Bennet_, that Darcy might bend the truth to his will to trick you into marrying him? He has his pride and the rejection of a young lady whom he considers himself enamored with would be an injurious blow! Once he has achieved his goal and the sparkle of his prize has dulled, I fear that he will not be happy to have been caught by a simple country maid, no matter how witty and charming she may be. I beg of you – please, do not tie yourself to such a man."

Now Elizabeth was growing truly angry at Mr Wickham's gall. Far from stepping back and out of his influence, she lifted her hand and jabbed him in the center of his chest with one of her index fingers. He stumbled a little, clearly surprised that she would respond so vehemently to his so-called warning, and stared at her with wide eyes. "How _dare_ you speak of Fitzwilliam in that manner! He is twice the man you will ever be, you conniving...you amoral…," in the heat of her ire, Elizabeth struggled for a word strong enough to convey the contempt she felt for him, eventually settling for, "_philanderer_!"

"Now, Elizabeth – "

"Miss Bennet – soon to be _Mrs Darcy_ – and do not forget yourself again!" she exclaimed, poking him again and again in the chest to emphasize each syllable. "You are obviously too convinced of your own charm – or else completely daft – to think that you can swindle me a second time. If you came here expecting me to fall into your arms because you spoke a few pretty words and affected an injured mien, then you can forget _that_ right this instant. You tried to _use me_ to malign an innocent man, one who has treated you far better than you deserved, and now you have the nerve to try and do so again by cuckolding him with this paltry attempt to seduce me? At least, I assume that must be your aim by the way you so tenderly inflect my given name, despite all my requests that you address me properly, and follow me about like a lovelorn puppy. Well, it will not work – go peddle your invented woes elsewhere, sir, for I am no man's dupe any longer."

Mr Wickham's face, at first a mask of shock and awe in the face of Elizabeth's dressing down, grew steadily darker throughout her speech, his jaw clenching, eyes narrowing and lips puckering into a displeased line. It was perhaps the first genuine expression he had ever displayed in her presence. "Is that all you have to say?"

"No, in fact," replied Elizabeth, finally withdrawing and crossing her arms over her chest. "I will leave you with a warning to leave me, Fitzwilliam and the rest of my family in peace. If I must, I will insist that my father ban you from Longbourn and all association with us, but I hope that you will have the sense to stay away on your own. Now I have done, Mr Wickham, and will be going in to dinner; join me if you must, but feel free to leave if you wish it."

Elizabeth twirled on her heel, the hem of her skirts and the loose curls spilling down her neck flying out behind her as she did, and proceeded to march down the hall to where the rest of the party was enjoying their first course.

Before she had made it even halfway to her destination, she heard the loud thump of rapid steps behind her, those of a pair of military issued boots, and felt a painful grip on her upper arm yanking her backwards and nearly off her feet. Mr Wickham pulled her side up against his chest, his fingers bruising the flesh beneath the puffy sleeve that capped her shoulder, and swung her back around to face him. His anger was terrible to behold. "I have not done with you yet, _Miss Bennet_."

Elizabeth allowed herself only a moment of alarm at his expression and exclamation before her courage rose to the fore in response to his attempt at intimidation. She jerked hard on the arm he held captured within his grasp, though she could not successfully tug it free, and demanded, "Release me, sir, or I shall scream! There is an entire room full of people nearby who will happily come to my rescue if I do and I have no doubt that Fitzwilliam will show you no mercy when he hears of how you have manhandled me."

Mr Wickham scoffed. "Your _Fitzwilliam_ is not here," he reminded her, his teeth glinting in the light of a wall sconce as he bared them at her.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to cry out, just as she had promised, but found her attempt stymied by Mr Wickham's own as he bent forward and kissed her most violently. Instinctively, she clamped her jaw shut, impeding the search of his encroaching tongue, and attempted to wrench her face sharply to the side. He followed and she tried again in the other direction, only to be recaptured when he parried her move.

Finally, recognizing that she was not about to win her freedom in this fashion, Elizabeth raised the hand not captured by Mr Wickham and swung it hard. With a satisfying _SMACK_, her assailant was forced to break his kiss when his head was suddenly thrust to the side by the connection of her palm to his cheek.

Elizabeth breathed heavily in the aftermath, filling her lungs greedily with each inhale, as she could now draw in air properly with Mr Wickham no longer attached to her like a leech. Before she could gather enough breath to scream for help, however, he was upon her again, the hand not crushing her upper arm rising upward to grab her face. His fingers dug into her cheeks painfully and jerked her face around so that they were looking one another directly in the eyes. In her periphery, Elizabeth could see that his face was turning red where she had struck him and beginning to swell. Good.

"Do not do that again," he warned, shaking her head slightly, but forcefully, from side to side and making her dizzy.

Without much alternative, she simply glared at him, but it was impossible not to wonder what he would do next. How much_ could_ he do with so many potential witnesses in the next room? No one had seemed to notice their absence just yet, but surely Jane or Charlotte or her father would realize soon that she was missing. Or even her mother, who had taken to bragging about her second eldest excessively since her engagement to Fitzwilliam, might look up to point her out to a neighbor and see that she was not at the table. Even if Mr Wickham dragged her upstairs –

– no, she would not think of that.

The hard rap upon the front door behind Mr Wickham drew Elizabeth's notice and her eyes darted toward it. Her distraction was contagious and her captor turned toward the source, unintentionally loosening his grip slightly upon her face. Taking this unsolicited but very welcome opportunity, Elizabeth wrenched her face free of his grasping fingers and called out, as loudly as she was capable, "Help! Please, help me – !"

Mr Wickham's palm blanketed her cries before she could say more, but he was already too late. The front door burst open to reveal three figures standing just over the threshold, each lightly dusted with snow in the twilight, and one of them charging forward at an alarmed pace. Another followed a step behind while the third lingered in the doorway.

Before she could properly determine the identity of whomever was coming to her rescue, their faces shrouded both by the shadows of the dim foyer and the brims of their beavers, Mr Wickham was pulled off of her and flung to the floor. Due to the sudden momentum, Elizabeth was thrust forward as well, but managed to maintain her upright balance – though only just barely.

Upon the ground, Mr Wickham was far less lucky as he was at the mercy of a fist repeatedly pummeling at him from above while the tall, dark figure of a man pinned him down. With each strike, Mr Wickham yelped like a whipped dog, each exclamation sharp to her ears, and begged pitifully for his attacker to desist. Another stood there, watching, without making any movement to help either party in the conflict. Why was he doing nothing?

As the light from the wall sconce to Elizabeth's right finally filtered at the proper angle to highlight her rescuer's face, she recognized the visage of the man she had been waiting for since Saturday.

"Fitzwilliam!" she cried, lunging forward to grasp at his forearm before it made another downward swing toward Mr Wickham's face. "Fitzwilliam! _Stop_!"

Fitzwilliam tugged his arm as if he were trying to shake her off and resume the pummeling of his old enemy again, but Elizabeth held fast and called out to him again. Finally seeming to hear her, he relaxed his tensed appendage and pivoted his head enough to look at her from the corner of one eye, panting heavily. Beneath him, Mr Wickham whimpered pathetically.

"What the devil is going on out here?"

Elizabeth whipped around, both of her hands still grasping Fitzwilliam's wrist, to see her father standing just behind her. Beyond him, a cluster of friends, neighbors, officers and various relations were grouped, staring at the scene with horror. They were, as yet, too visibly stunned to gossip.

Feeling that the danger to Mr Wickham was passed now that Fitzwilliam was more in control of himself, Elizabeth released his arm and turned more fully to Mr Bennet. She was shaking, she realized, when her voice expelled from her mouth and the words trembled. "Mr Wickham attacked me...and then Fitzwilliam...he – he came and s-saved me..."

She heard the rustle of fabric behind her and felt the gentle touch of a hand upon her shoulder. Elizabeth pivoted her face to see that of Fitzwilliam's, his expression one of lingering rage mixed with fearful concern. Despite this, and despite the small flecks of blood glimmering on his cheeks in the candlelight, Elizabeth felt comforted by his presence.

"Attacked you?" Mr Bennet repeated, drawing Elizabeth's attention back to him for a moment. His own glaring gaze, however, was fixed upon the writhing form of Mr Wickham, who was beginning to sit up with a hand tenderly stroking his jaw.

Wincing, Mr Wickham rebutted, his pitch high in scrambling panic, "No matter what she says, I was not attacking her! She welcomed my advances until Darcy here showed up and then pretended that she never wanted them – to preserve the good opinion of her wealthy betrothed, no doubt! Why, had you not shown up when you did, Darcy, I am certain you would have come across something scandalous – "

Mr Wickham hissed in pain as the toe of the boot of Fitzwilliam's companion found his ribs with a swift kick. "Quiet, worm," this man, his face folded into an expression of contempt, sneered.

"I must agree with this gentleman, Mr Wickham – _hold your tongue_," added Mr Bennet, his tone and expression unusually severe. "My Lizzy has never been known for sneaking illicit kisses in dark hallways and I will thank you to keep your lies to yourself. Where is Colonel Forster?"

"Here," came the hoarse grunt of Mr Wickham's superior officer as he waded through the crowd.

"I can explain – " Mr Wickham whined to Colonel Forster, but whatever self-serving speech he had been cooking up was halted by the wave of the older man's hand.

Instead of addressing his wayward lieutenant directly, Colonel Forster looked about him as if searching through the crowd. When his gaze had apparently landed upon whom he had been looking for, he beckoned them with a short grunt. "Carter, Saunderson – place Wickham in custody and escort him back to camp. He is to be locked up until he can be transported to London where he will face the authority of the courts. Come on, step lively."

The two officers, once amongst Mr Wickham's friends in the regiment, charged forward and seized their former comrade by the arms and hauled him upright. Mr Wickham objected to this treatment, maintained his innocence vociferously, but they ignored him and dragged him backwards through the still open front door.

The third person who had arrived with Fitzwilliam – now revealed to be a young, frightened lady in the dim glow of the house – stepped quickly to the side to let the trio pass. As she did, Elizabeth could hear the prisoner calling out to her – "Georgiana! _Please_!" – but was able to say no more than that before Captain Carter pulled the door shut behind him.

_Georgiana_. Fitzwilliam's sister, the one whom Wickham had...oh, the poor dear! To arrive at the home of her future in-laws and come upon such a scene! Elizabeth's accusations, her brother's violence, her former lover's arrest; Miss Darcy must be very shaken, indeed.

"May I ask why he was here at all?" called out Fitzwilliam's male companion, drawing all eyes in his direction. He was glaring directly at Colonel Forster. "Mr Payne visited you yesterday with all the proof you needed to make an immediate arrest for unpaid debts, did he not?"

The colonel bristled as most men who are unused to hearing their decisions questioned often do when faced with an accusation. "And you are, sir?"

"Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, attache to General _, at your service," replied the gentleman, bowing ironically to his militia counterpart.

Colonel Forster's face was suddenly infused with ruddiness. "I had intended to make the arrest after the holiday; there was no suspicion of violence, so I had not thought a delay unreasonable. I liked the lad and did not wish to ruin his final Christmas as a free man if I could help it."

Colonel Fitzwilliam – it was strange associating the name of her betrothed with another man, uncomfortable even – scoffed and began a heated tirade against the detriment of lazy superior officers, which caused visible offense in more than one quarter, but Elizabeth's attention was drawn away from the brewing conflict by a gentle tug on her uninjured arm.

"Come," the voice of her Fitzwilliam whispered, intimately close to her ear. When he tugged again, she followed his lead away from the gathering of increasingly irate men toward the staircase.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Oh, Wickham...someone needs to swat him with a newspaper. Then again, after Darcy's fists of fury, that might be somewhat redundant. XP

Another chapter out on Thursday, y'all!

**Next Update: **February 13, 2020  
**Completion Date:** February 20, 2020

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	12. Chapter Twelve: Now Dissolved

**Title: **Under the Influence  
**Rating:** M – for sexual situations just this side of explicit.  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting: **Regency

**Summary:** A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"All connection between us seemed now dissolved."

– Mr Darcy, _Pride and Prejudice_ Volume II, Chapter 12

* * *

_**Chapter **__**Twelve**__**:**__Now Dissolved_

Darcy

Rage was still simmering beneath his skin, but at least the full boil of it had abated, allowing Darcy a certain measure of rational thought in the wake of discovering Wickham manhandling Elizabeth. When he had rapped on the front door in a bid for entrance, Darcy had been rehearsing an apology in his head for not arriving when he should have – for being unforgivably late to the Bennet family Christmas Eve dinner party – but every single contrite word had dissolved from his mind upon hearing the sharp cry of distress from within.

"_Help! Please, help me –_ "

Elizabeth's fearful plea rang in his ears even now as he quietly and discreetly led her away from the brewing chaos between Richard and the negligent Colonel Forster – who would be dealt with later – toward the staircase mounted against the far wall. He would address other concerns at another time, but for now he needed to tend to his shaken bride.

Standing just inside Longbourn's threshold, her hand cupped over her mouth, was his horrified sister, still wearing her navy blue winter cloak and matching bonnet as she watched Richard heatedly accuse the other colonel of dereliction of his duties as an officer in His Majesty's army. Georgiana was dusted with snow as if someone had sprinkled her with powdered sugar and she shivered, either from the damp of melting ice crystals or from the shocking scene he had unwittingly subjected her to.

Recalling his duty to Georgiana, he halted next to her for a moment to inquire after her well being. "Are you well, dearest?"

Georgiana's face turned toward him and, though she said nothing, she nodded. Darcy searched her expression for signs of distress and, though he found several, she indicated with a subtle nudge of her head in the direction of the staircase that he should proceed on his way. He accepted her gesture at face value and put himself and Elizabeth back into motion.

When they reached the landing at the top of the stairs, Darcy finally allowed himself to look back at his beloved, though he was fearful of what he might see. He had not checked her for injury before now, though it had been part of his purpose when he had whisked her away from the company below stairs, and he dreaded witnessing the marks that Wickham had left upon her. Elizabeth seemed largely unmarred, however, which was a relief, though her eyes were filled with question – no doubt wondering why he had taken her from the crowd.

"Which bedroom is yours?" he asked, softly.

With a vivid blush rising to her cheeks, clear to him even in the dim light cast by the intermittent wall sconces along the hall, Elizabeth pointed out the door at the far end and replied, "That one."

Darcy slipped his hand into Elizabeth's and gave her a subtle tug in the direction she had indicated. He paused in front of her door only long enough to relieve the latch and grant them entry before bustling her inside and closing it behind them.

Once they were ensconced in the privacy of her chambers, the door firmly sealed to any and all potential intruders, Darcy reached out and gathered Elizabeth to him. He buried his nose in her softly scented curls – her usual lavender toilette water spiced with a hint of cinnamon, the latter likely a result of holiday preparations – and breathed deeply. "I am so sorry, my love," he whispered, guilt clenching in his gut, "I am so sorry."

Without withdrawing from his arms, Elizabeth sighed. When she spoke, her voice was slightly muffled by his overcoat. "It was not your fault, Fitzwilliam. Mr Wickham is a wicked man and no one is to blame for his actions save himself."

"But were it not for me...for his grudge against me..."

Elizabeth's arms shifted from between them to encircle his waist, slipping beneath his great coat to hold him more directly. "He is a spoiled child who takes his disappointments out on those unfortunate enough to know him. You have done nothing wrong, Fitzwilliam; you owe him nothing and yet offered him more than he ever deserved. If he is dissatisfied with his lot, that is his business, but he has no right to take his frustrations out on others – particularly those who went out of their way to help him."

Darcy knew that she was correct in a rational sense, but still felt responsible for bringing the wrath of Wickham upon her. The scoundrel had even hinted that he might make some sort of move against his beloved whilst he was in London, but Darcy had not had the foresight to warn either her father or Elizabeth herself that Wickham might be a danger to her. He had spent the greater part of a week chasing down every debt he could, adding it to his own collection that he had accumulated over years of suffering Wickham's irresponsible behavior, but had not thought to alert his bride and future in-laws to the possible threat. Wretched, wretched mistake!

"Had I warned you ahead of time, as I should," Darcy began, swallowing against a thickness in his throat before he could proceed, "none of this would ever have happened. He never would have been admitted to Longbourn and you would not have been in danger. I am heartily ashamed of myself for my oversight."

Elizabeth dipped her head back, prompting Darcy to loosen his grasp upon her slightly so that they might connect their gazes, and found her glaring at him. He was sure that she was about to castigate him, and rightfully so, for putting her in harm's way, but though she scolded him it was not in the vein he had expected. "I have said it already but I shall do so again – _this was not your fault_! You could not have known that he intended, against all measure of decency and good sense, to accost me in a house full of people. Indeed, I am sure that he did not intend it himself until I provoked him to it – which was, perhaps, not my best idea," here, she grinned wryly at him and he offered her a laugh that sounded more like a cough, "so you may as well blame _me_ for Mr Wickham's violence."

Any humor from her silly jest was drained away as she completed her statement. Frowning, Darcy immediately rebutted, "_You_ cannot have any blame in this situation! Wickham – "

" – is a scoundrel, a cad, a blight on good society and must be assigned all censure. As_ I_ am clearly a victim of Mr Wickham's vindictive attack, so are you. Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth raised her hand to his face and he felt the heat of her bare palm seep into his cold cheek, "do not let him pass his responsibility off to you, as I am sure he has in the past. If you do, he gets what he wanted all along – to cause you pain. I assume, from what Colonel Fitzwilliam said downstairs, that you have been collecting evidence of Mr Wickham's previous crimes while you were away?"

Darcy could not help but flinch slightly at Elizabeth referring to his cousin as "Colonel _Fitzwilliam_," a moniker too close to his own for comfort, but answered steadily, "I have. We have amassed enough of his debts to put him in prison for a long while, perhaps even to have him transported at the end of his sentence. Wickham will not bother you or anyone else for a very long time – if ever."

"Then let us forget him, my love," she suggested with a warm smile and gentle eyes; Darcy's breath hitched in his chest. "Mr Wickham will no longer be mentioned by any of us and it shall be as if he had never troubled us at all."

Darcy was amenable to Elizabeth's suggestion, but his focus was upon something else. "You called me 'my love.'"

"I did," she admitted, very softly. Her thumb was stroking his cheek with aching tenderness, her eyes the same glittering green as a bough dusted with fresh snow. She was looking at him in a way that he had been dreaming of since first knowing her, a way he had dreaded she never would. "I...I love you, Fitzwilliam. So very much."

As if drawn toward her by magnetic force, Darcy bowed his head until his lips pressed against Elizabeth's, suckling them lightly. His beloved responded slowly, but not with hesitance; her mouth moved against his in a languorous way as if she were savoring his kiss and this moment, her tongue searching shyly for his.

"Elizabeth," Darcy murmured, pulling away from her just enough to praise her name in the most reverent tone he could manage before dipping forward again to resume their kiss. "My dearest," he nipped at her lower lip, "loveliest," then soothed the nibbled spot with a sweep of his tongue, "_Elizabeth_."

Elizabeth allowed him his way and neither attempted to keep up with his increasingly amorous attentions to her lips nor pushed him away. Her fingers, however, were not as idle and divested him of his snow-dampened beaver so that they might bury themselves in his hair. Darcy had noticed that she favored doing this whenever they shared intimacies and he was not of a mind to tell her to desist in this habit; the gentle yet fervent scrape of her nails against his scalp caused goose flesh to spread across his body and aroused him greatly. It was not simply the tingling sensation created by her ministrations which created this reaction but also the vivid recollection of her clinging tightly to him, her hands grasping for purchase upon his shoulders and back, as their bodies worshiped one another's in the warm glow of firelight.

Without even being aware of his own movement, Darcy found himself pressing the back of Elizabeth's knees against the edge of her mattress. His love made a surprised sound within her throat, but her lips maintained their fevered contact with his. She sank into a seated position and he followed, bending at the waist, equally unwilling to break their kiss. Darcy braced his hands on either side of Elizabeth's hips and willed himself to calm his ardor before he tumbled fully into the bed with her. He was drunk with her scent, the feel of her beneath him, however, and he struggled to reassert control over the impulses driving him to cast away all gentlemanly behavior and take his willing bride right there in her father's house, the population of Meryton waiting down below be damned.

"Fitz…," Elizabeth gasped into his open mouth, "...william..."

Hearing his given name whispered in passion dissolved the last shred of Darcy's resolve against his irrational desires and he moved his hands from where they were propped against the blankets to reach lower. He cupped the back of her knees and, more hastily and less gently than he had intended, flipped Elizabeth fully onto her back. She made no protest against this treatment and instead raised her legs to assist his attempt at repositioning her into a more carnally favorable arrangement. Elizabeth further dug the heels of her slippers into the mattress to secure herself in place and allowed her thighs to fall open wide enough to admit his presence therein.

Elizabeth's cooperation only inflamed Darcy further and he scrambled to find the hem of her skirts. They were partially trapped beneath her, partially tangled around her ankles, but he managed to wrench them free enough to raise them up her legs and bare her hidden flesh to him. His lips and teeth ravaged her neck, scraping and suckling, as he descended into the cradle of her hips and ground against her. Elizabeth unleashed a sound that was an intoxicating mixture of a whimper and a stuttering, guttural breath and Darcy knew that he had pleased her. He bucked against the same spot and she cried out again, driving him forward again and again.

"Fitzwilliam...I need..."

Darcy reached down in between them, fumbling at the fastenings of his trousers –

Knock, knock.

"Lizzy?"

Darcy immediately ceased his impatient attempts to free himself and stilled. The dulcet tones of Elizabeth's elder sister were calling for her through the door, reminding him most strongly of a particular morning at Netherfield some weeks past.

Elizabeth, who had frozen at precisely the same moment as Darcy had upon Miss Bennet's intrusion upon their frenzied moment, paused to ease her breathing into a somewhat normal rhythm. When she responded, her voice was a touch more strained and hoarse than usual. "Yes, Jane?"

"I came upstairs to check on you...are you well, dearest?"

Elizabeth cleared her throat of some of the lusty timbre which deepened it, but pinned beneath Darcy with her elegant coiffure askew and her lips pink from her lover's ravaging she still looked enticingly wanton. Most luckily for them both, only Darcy was privy to the scandalous image she presented as Miss Bennet had yet to breech the bedchamber bodily. "Yes, very well."

"May I...come in?"

"No!" Elizabeth exclaimed, sitting up quite suddenly. Darcy jolted upright himself and maintained his balance, but only just. His beloved offered him an apologetic grimace as she continued speaking to her sister through the door. "That is...I am something of a mess after...after my ordeal and I need to straighten my appearance. I shall be down directly."

There was an exceptionally long pause, one fraught with suspense and racing heartbeats, before Miss Bennet spoke again. "If you are sure, Lizzy. And, ah...if you happen to see Mr Darcy in...that is, on your way down, please invite him to dine with us."

"I shall."

The pitter-patter of slippered feet, growing quiet with each subsequent step, announced the departure of Miss Bennet and the tension in Darcy's shoulders lessened significantly. They drooped precipitously once he was certain that they were alone once more.

Darcy then turned his attention to Elizabeth, prepared to apologize for his rash and improper behavior, but he was forestalled by a curious little snort from that quarter. His beloved was still seated upon the bed, her skirts gathered around her hips like some kind of velvet bird's nest, and her fingers were pressed against her lips which were pulled taut in a guilty smile.

"I am glad that this situation amuses you," Darcy said, his tone and affect intentionally flat. He was fighting his own urge to smile, however, and he was certain that the intermittent twitching of his lips gave him away.

Elizabeth released another snort, much louder this time, and her laughter bubbled forth as if a dam had faltered and unleashed a flood. It was neither tittering nor coy, but a sincere expression of hearty mirth, one aimed at the situation, her lover and, Darcy strongly suspected, herself, as well.

When she had settled enough to reply, Elizabeth said, "I...cannot help it! Of course it must be Jane who discovered you in my room since she nearly did so once before. Oh! How thankful we all should be that she has the great good sense to knock before entering someone's private chambers!"

"I cannot argue with you there," was Darcy's dry response, which earned him another chuckle from Elizabeth. "Come," he held out his hand for her to take, which she accepted, "let us return downstairs before anyone else without such proper manners and respect for others' privacy comes searching for either of us again."

"A most exceptional idea, sir." Elizabeth dropped her feet to the floor and, after some slight readjustment to her slippers which were threatening to fall off, stood. Her many layers of skirts and petticoats dropped like a theater curtain and obscured her legs from his view; a great pity, indeed. As she smoothed some of the more obvious wrinkles out of the deep red velvet, Elizabeth further suggested, "I believe it would be wise for us to arrive in the dining room separately, lest we scandalize anyone further tonight. I do not think we shall be fooling many, but it would be at least respectful to those present if we do not flaunt our transgressions."

"Agreed. Ladies first?" Darcy's tumescence had all but resolved itself shortly after Miss Bennet's interruption had destroyed the intimacy of his rendezvous with Elizabeth, but it was always polite to allow a lady precedence when possible.

"How admirably gallant of you," Elizabeth praised, taking a single step forward and placing her hands against the lapels of his coat. She arched upward upon her toes and gifted him with a soft, chaste kiss. "However, you are mostly presentable whereas I…," she waved vaguely at her hair which was, indeed, a rather tangled mess of curls and braids, "I shall require a bit of freshening up before I may be seen amongst company. If anyone should ask, I wished for a moment to...collect myself. After my ordeal."

Darcy bent his head and reciprocated her kiss with one of his own. "Very well, my love. I shall make your excuses and await you in the dining room. There will be a seat reserved for you right next to me at the table."

"I am all anticipation, my love."

After a few more kisses, and one reluctant admonishment from Elizabeth, Darcy did finally leave to return downstairs.

o0o

Once he had straightened his clothing into a more respectable arrangement and left Elizabeth to repair the damage inflicted to her coif by his eager hands, Darcy then returned downstairs to the dining room and the myriad guests within. No comments were outwardly made by his disappearance, so coincidentally timed with Elizabeth's, though Mr Bennet's scolding glare above his spectacles implied to Darcy that it had at least been noted by some. After recognizing his soon-to-be-father-in-law's admonishment with a subtle nod, he had taken his seat at the table and responded to a few inquiries as to his bride's well being from his sister, Richard and a handful of others. Elizabeth, who had not been far behind him at all, entered shortly thereafter, took the chair held out for her by Darcy and the Christmas festivities recommenced.

It was a lovely dinner of three courses which concluded with a festively flaming pudding much admired by the table. Even Miss Bingley, seated toward the opposite end between the hostess and her brother, could not creditably complain and so remained silent. When Mrs Bennet had apparently gauged that her guests were satisfied enough, she rose from her chair to indicate that the rest of the ladies should likewise do so.

"I shall see you in the parlor, my love," Elizabeth whispered into his ear quickly before pushing back her own seat.

Darcy, finding himself irrationally panicked at the thought of his beloved retreating from his company, darted his gaze to the host's place at their end of the table. Mr Bennet, however, showed no indication that he was ready to follow his wife and the other ladies into the parlor for coffee; instead, he shook his head subtly in the negative and retained his seat, hands folded comfortably upon his full stomach.

Darcy turned back to Elizabeth in time to kiss the back of her hand and mutter a promise to come find her as soon as he was able. She chuckled, squeezed his hand and soothed, "All will be well, sir. The only troublemakers left are my mother and sisters and I believe you can rest assured that I am in no danger from _them_."

"You forget Miss Bingley," replied Darcy, forcing his lips to quirk in a smile lest she think him seriously concerned.

Elizabeth glanced around at the quickly departing ladies, her time short. "Miss Bingley has been meek as a kitten all evening and, even so, I do not fear her claws. I shall be eagerly awaiting your attendance in the parlor."

With one last comforting squeeze to his hand, Elizabeth swept away from him and attached herself to her sister Jane who awaited her attendance in the doorway. With one last parting smile to him over her shoulder, she was gone.

"Do not look so forlorn, Darcy," called the dry tones of Mr Bennet, drawing Darcy's attention to him where he sat only a couple seats distant. Mr Hill was just placing the decanters of brandy and port before his smirking master and retreating. "Though, I suppose I cannot blame you; it seems whenever you are away my Lizzy is beset by some villain bent on her ruin and disgrace. You shall have your hands full as soon as you are married."

Mr Bennet's jibe was not funny, not really, but Darcy felt amusement rising all the same. It was darkly humorous to consider that all of the tribulations his beloved had suffered during their engagement had, as his almost father-in-law had insinuated, occurred outside of his presence as if these myriad "villains" had somehow expected to prevail simply because Elizabeth was unprotected. His courageous love, however, had shown each and every one of them that she was not to be trifled with – even when facing challenges alone.

In this same vein, Darcy replied, "You are wrong, sir; I believe it is Elizabeth who shall have her hands full protecting _me_. She has proven herself a fearsome creature these last weeks, has she not?"

Mr Bennet guffawed, a new experience for Darcy, and agreed heartily. He raised his glass of port to salute this sentiment. "To my Lizzy's courage! May it always rise against intimidation."

"Hear, hear," was the responding chorus from not only Darcy but also much of the room. Her disagreements with Mr Collins and Lady Catherine might be largely unknown to the community, but Elizabeth had certainly proven herself valiant against the unwanted advances of Wickham tonight and it was almost universally admired amongst the party which had gathered around the table. There had been much praise and concern raised toward Elizabeth in the wake of the assault until she had redirected the conversation elsewhere, further proving that she was not a wilting damsel. Darcy was justifiably proud of her.

After the gentlemen had drank their toast to the indomitable Miss Elizabeth Bennet and another to her impending status as Mrs Darcy, they broke into smaller discussion groups to bandy about the usual topics – politics, sport, family, the finer points of pretty ladies and so on. Mr Bennet remained seated close to Darcy, however, so that he could lean closer and inquire quietly, "She is well, is she not? I assume that is what you spirited her upstairs to ascertain."

Darcy was not meant to be fooled by the superficial meaning of the question and, indeed, caught the heavy implication of Mr Bennet's tone. They were both perfectly aware that his interlude with Elizabeth above stairs had not been entirely innocent, but Darcy was grateful that Mr Bennet was willing to pretend otherwise. Either he had no further concerns since the wedding date was so near or he had learned to curb his attitude on the subject since reconciling with his daughter over the circumstances of their engagement. Darcy did not particularly care which, but enjoyed the benefits of a more temperately collected Mr Bennet.

"She is well," Darcy confirmed, followed immediately by an incredulous chuckle. "Better than I, in fact. I had intended to comfort her, but it was she who comforted me instead. Elizabeth is a formidable woman, as we have already discussed."

"That she is, indeed." Mr Bennet nodded. "I cannot say where she gets it from with any authority, but I suspect that no one can truly take the credit other than herself. Lizzy is unique amongst us."

"She is unique anywhere," Darcy asserted, prompting another laugh from Mr Bennet.

"I suppose I must bow to your authority there, Son, though I do not doubt your conclusion. A word of advice, however; my Lizzy is a wonderful girl and – though I should not admit to such – my favorite amongst my daughters, but she has a dreadful temper. I would advise you not to get on the wrong side of it."

Darcy recalled the castigation she had rained down upon him during his proposal and shuddered lightly. He raised his glass and clinked it against Mr Bennet's. "I think, perhaps, you ought to have warned Mr Collins of that fact."

There was a sparkle in Mr Bennet's eye that reminded Darcy strongly of his daughter. "And where would the fun be in that, sir?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Almost...there...just one more chapter and then the epilogue left to go! Time to wrap this baby up. Next update on MONDAY.

Also, I'm officially out of villains to humiliate, so boo. I feel like it's a little silly to line them up like bowling pins and strike them down, but...whatever, I had a lot of fun doing it. No regrets! At least Darcy and Elizabeth were reasonable, right?

**Next Update: **February 17, 2020  
**Completion Date:** February 20, 2020

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Gives You Pleasure

**Title: **Under the Influence  
**Rating:** M - for sexual situations just this side of explicit.  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting: **Regency

**Summary:** A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."

– Elizabeth Bennet, _Pride and Prejudice_ Volume III, Chapter 16

* * *

_**Chapter T**__**hirteen**__**: **__Only As It Gives You Pleasure_

_Thursday December 26, 1811_

As Elizabeth settled back into the plush squabs of her husband's – now hers too, she supposed – carriage, she released a heavy sigh of relief. Relief that the wedding was now over. Relief that nothing had occurred to derail the proceedings at the last minute. Relief that she was finally married and leaving the chaos of her engagement period behind.

Most of all, she was relieved to now be connected with the utmost permanence to her dear Fitzwilliam. Now no man – or crazy aunts – could possibly put them asunder.

"Are you well, Wife?"

Elizabeth's lips curled at the corners into a slow, proud smile. Fitzwilliam had been referring to her almost constantly as "wife" or "Mrs Darcy" since Mr Brown had pronounced them man and wife that morning and she had yet to tire of hearing it. Tipping her head back so that she could share this smile with Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth replied, "I am exceedingly well, _Husband_."

She was rewarded for her endearment with a kiss to the forehead which she closed her eyes to savor. Fitzwilliam's breath ruffled the fine curls along her hairline as he murmured, "You seem thoughtful. Would you like to share?"

Elizabeth lowered her head again so that she might rest it upon Fitzwilliam's chest, right in that little hollow between his neck and shoulder. This spot seemed to be crafted specifically for her use. Her bonnet had been discarded the moment the door of the carriage had closed behind her and so she could feel the texture of his coat against her cheek, experience the warmth of his solid body underneath the superfine fabric. It was a most comfortable position, indeed. "I was only thinking how happy I am to be married. Another week of wedding planning and meddling relatives and I would have gone mad!"

Fitzwilliam chuckled and Elizabeth could feel the vibration of his subtle laughter as much as she could hear it. "You forgot about the witless bounders attempting to seduce you."

Elizabeth's nose wrinkled in distaste. "I had been _attempting_ to forget."

"Apologies." Another sweet kiss to the forehead.

"But speaking of Mr Wickham..."

Fitzwilliam sniffed. "Let us not."

"You brought him up," Elizabeth reminded him, which Fitzwilliam was forced to concede to. She tipped her head back so that she might look him in the face as she inquired, "What has happened to him?"

Fitzwilliam sighed and the heavy exhalation ruffled the fine hairs at her temple. "Richard spoke to Colonel Forster while the rest of us were occupied and demanded to know what would be done with him. I think he wanted to be certain that the job would be done properly this time."

"Understandable, considering what happened." It was not in Elizabeth's nature to be resentful – unless her vanity was injured, she must own – and she truly was not, but she was forced to admit that Colonel Forster's decision to leave Wickham prowling around the neighborhood with an arrest warrant hanging over the lieutenant's head had been badly done. Only Jane had conjured any sympathy for the militia colonel's poor judgment, though in such a way that conceded he might – possibly – have performed better. Mr Bennet's opinion had been rather more harsh.

"Indeed," Fitzwilliam's expression was folded into a snarling grimace before smoothing out into its usual grave placidity. "Colonel Forster informed him that Wickham would be on his way to a London prison today – and, in fact, should be halfway there now. If he ever sees the light of day again, it will be upon the deck of a ship headed for one of the prison colonies. We shall neither see nor hear from him again."

"I would feel some sympathy for him if I could, but he certainly brought it upon himself. I find myself content with his fate, as awful as it surely will be." And good riddance. A man such as Mr Wickham was better separated from good society lest he continue to victimize innocents with his unrepentant selfishness. Poor Miss Darcy, as brave as she had attempted to be in the aftermath of Mr Wickham's arrest, had been shaken just by the sight of the blackguard, a testament to how badly he had treated the sweet lamb. Luckily, Elizabeth and her sisters had been able to restore some of her good cheer and Miss Darcy seemed to have recovered from the shock of such a disturbing encounter with her attempted seducer tolerably well.

Fitzwilliam scoffed at the very notion of feeling compassion for the scoundrel. "I have not felt sympathy for Wickham for some years now and I shall not attempt it now. As you said, he has brought it all upon his own head, little though he is capable of accepting the blame. I am sure he will curse our name for the rest of his days without ever considering his own fault in the matter. However, I have done with him and care not whether he finds any measure of redemption."

Elizabeth roved her gaze over Fitzwilliam's stony facade and wondered, to herself only, if there was not a part of her husband mourning for the loss of the young boy who had been his playmate during all of his formative years. Mr Wickham could not have always been bad, at least not irredeemably so, and surely they must have had some pleasant times together before envy and resentment had dissolved their friendship. Elizabeth could not feel any tenderness for a man who would prey upon those he considered weak and gullible, but she experienced a pang of regret on behalf of her husband.

"Agreed," she said at length, nuzzling deeper into Fitzwilliam's side. His arm tightened briefly around her waist in an affectionate squeeze. "He is dealt with and gone from our lives forever. It is much better to dwell upon the good, as Jane would say, and I am of the same mind. Such as the good news my sister shared with me just before we left Longbourn..."

"You mean her engagement to Bingley?"

"I see your friend has been telling you tales." Elizabeth laughed into Fitzwilliam's collar and the silk of his cravat fluttered, releasing a burst of his cologne into her nostrils. She inhaled deeply of the scent and reveled in the warm memories it invoked of past embraces.

Fitzwilliam's tone was amused and dry as he reported, "I rather think he had to tell me lest he burst from the strain of keeping it a secret. I told him he need not keep it to himself for our sake, that we would not mind having some of the attention taken away from our own wedding, but he said that your sister insisted upon it."

Elizabeth reflected his diversion as she said, "Yes, Jane is always thoughtful of others. However, I strongly believe that she had a selfish motive as well – at least as selfish as she is capable of."

"Oh?"

"I think it no great mystery, Fitzwilliam. You have been in the presence of my mother these last weeks, have you not? I think Jane wanted a measure of privacy before descending into the bedlam that is wedding planning, especially since she is likely to experience more of it than we did; she has always been my mother's favorite and with that comes a certain obligation for patience."

Poor Jane. Elizabeth had been fortunate to be the favorite of their father who demanded little more than a precocious story or an insightful comment upon occasion, but to have the attention of their mother was another animal entirely. Mrs Bennet was loving of all her daughters in her own way, as much as she was capable, but Jane had been her special project from the day that she had come into the world as a beautiful, cherubic angel. Mrs Bennet had crowed far and wide about Jane's cornflower blue eyes, her golden waves of hair and the sweet, deferential attitude which had come naturally to her. Their mother had taken advantage of this tendency toward sweetness and used it to her own ends. It was not as sinister as it sounded as Mrs Bennet was hardly of a cruel or malicious bent, but it did require Jane to tolerate some rather outlandish schemes – including the one which sent her to Netherfield on the back of an old nag in the rain.

"I see. Will they be married by our first anniversary, do you think?" Fitzwilliam's sarcastic query was coupled with an impertinent smirk which would have been more familiar on his wife's face.

Elizabeth copied this expression, one of her signature ones, and replied with half seriousness and half humor, "Only if my father keeps his promise and takes a more active role in reining my mother in. If she is very lucky, Jane may set her wedding date before the autumn."

"Considering how much we have just been through – and without even counting some of the more grueling experiences – that seems like nothing short of torture. Poor Bingley." Fitzwilliam shuddered.

Elizabeth's words were infused with dark amusement as she said, "I suppose the way we went about it has some benefits after all."

"Perhaps, but you shall never say anything of the sort to my sister."

"So long as you say nothing of it to any of _mine_, we are in accord."

"Agreed."

Moving on to another subject slightly less fraught with moral pitfalls and acrimony, Elizabeth said, "I noticed that your uncle the earl did not bother to make his objections known. I do not suppose Lady Catherine chose to accept our union and went quietly back to Kent?"

Fitzwilliam snorted. "I am afraid not. Richard happened to be at his father's house when Lady Catherine descended upon it to rant and rave about our engagement, little good though it did her. You must understand that my Uncle Hugh is much like your father in some ways and as often declines to involve himself in family matters – and Aunt Catherine's, in particular – as much as he reasonably can. He apparently let her storm about us for some time before ultimately refusing to bend to her will. Richard informs me that he sends his best wishes for our health and happiness, by the by."

"I believe I will like your uncle."

"I believe you will, as well," Fitzwilliam agreed, nuzzling softly at her hairline. When he ceased, he rested his cheek against the top of her head and continued, "Though he is not as fond of foolishness as Mr Bennet, he is a reasonable sort and a thoroughly good man. Richard is much like him."

"Then my approval is assured." Elizabeth smiled fondly as she began to play with the buttons upon Fitzwilliam's coat. They were shiny and gold, as a man of her husband's stature could have no less, and featured the intricate pattern of his family's coat of arms. She ran the pads of her thumb over the raised design and enjoyed the slightly tickling sensation created by sweeping her skin across the delicately rendered image. Down to the very details of his clothing, Fitzwilliam was a complex and interesting gentleman.

"One cannot speak of Lady Catherine without also considering Mr Collins," continued Fitzwilliam, somewhat hesitantly. He must have supposed – and correctly, in fact – that speaking of that odious parson was nearly as bad as referencing Mr Wickham. "Do you suppose he has gotten over his rejection tolerably well?"

It was Elizabeth's turn to snort a laugh, though hers was a mite impatient. "Which one? I refused his hand no fewer than half a dozen times! Unless I am miscounting. I am sure his heart was never touched, however; I merely wounded his pride. My sympathy all belongs with Charlotte."

"Naturally. She will still have him, then?"

Elizabeth's sigh weighed heavy with disappointment and a touch of melancholy. She released the button she had been fiddling with and slipped her hand inside her husband's overcoat instead, seeking warmth as she discussed a topic which only made her feel cold. "I told her about Mr Collins' attempted abandonment of their engagement, but she was adamant that their wedding would continue as planned. I admit that I was rather horrified when she told me this, so I asked her why and she told me that she was hardly marrying my cousin for his romantic sensibilities – or her own – and that she would be a fool to give up a chance for a home of her own just because he does not have any affection for her. She does not expect it nor does she wish for it, only the creature comforts his position in life can afford her."

Fitzwilliam soothed his beloved wife with a series of gentle kisses against her hairline and a warm hand trailing up and down the shoulder upon which it had previously rested. "I know that it is more often the way than not, but I find myself rather saddened that she would settle for a mercenary position – especially as it comes in the form of Mr Collins."

"It is what she wants."

"Then we must respect that and be thankful that our situation is different."

"Quite different! The very opposite, in fact." Elizabeth agreed with the vehemence of all her feelings – disappointment in Charlotte, frustration at all of their stumbling blocks of the last few weeks and, most of all, the joyful relief she had felt upon entering the carriage.

"Though it did not begin in such a way, as I am certain you must recall," Fitzwilliam commented. Though his tone was deceptively light, Elizabeth felt she could hear some tension in it, as well. After a little cough, he continued, "Tell me, when did you begin to think better of me? It was not during my abominable proposal, I am sure."

"To the contrary," teased his wife, poking him in the side; he squirmed as if ticklish and Elizabeth made a note to exploit this weakness later, "I believe that _was_ when it began."

Fitzwilliam's expression was such a mixture of surprise and incredulity that Elizabeth was forced to laugh. She reached upward and pressed her lips to his in a quick, fond kiss before she continued with the explanation that was clearly necessary.

"I do not deny that I was angry and offended by your initial offering, such as it was, but your persistence was endearing. Further, it taught me to think of you differently – as an honorable, trustworthy sort of man who would do anything to follow the path of good, no matter how thorny it proved to be. Subsequent events solidified this opinion by showing me that you were devoted and that your words of love, far from the insincere flattery I had originally taken them for, were in fact deeply felt. How could my heart not be touched by all of this? I began to feel as though being married to you would not only be less terrible than I had feared, but could also be perhaps the source of my greatest happiness. From there, it was no great effort to fall in love with you."

Fitzwilliam listened to Elizabeth's explanation with the grave sort of expression that had defined his features during the earliest part of their acquaintance, one which she had misunderstood for an unacceptably long period. His eyes were staring fixedly into hers, intensely focused, as if he could not detach them. Though only two months previously Elizabeth would have considered this placid facade evidence of Fitzwilliam's cold, unfeeling nature, now she could recognize that it was precisely the opposite; he only looked at her in this way when he was experiencing some powerful emotion which was difficult for him to contain.

"Elizabeth...I…," Fitzwilliam's struggle with words appeared to be afflicting him again as he sought some sort of response to her heartfelt and rational declaration of utmost devotion to him and their marriage. A man who had felt less might have been able to say more.

Elizabeth placed her hand over his mouth, pressing gently, and smiled. "I know."

With his fingers clasped loosely around her wrist, Fitzwilliam pulled her lavender scented palm away from his lips, but not before savoring it with a soft kiss. "My only regret is that I did not court you as I should, that instead of plying you with the compliments and adoration that are you due I took from you your virtue and essentially forced you to accept me. I worry that your feelings for me now are borne from a necessity that you otherwise might not have experienced and that, ultimately, you will come to regret tying yourself to me."

Elizabeth wiped her face clear of any amusement so that Fitzwilliam might know and accept the sincerity of what she was to say next. "It will never happen."

"You cannot know that, Elizabeth." Fitzwilliam's voice was laced with a tired pessimism and his face was slightly lined with worry.

"But I do know," she insisted, placing gentle kisses along the back of his hand, the one which still claimed possession of hers. "Much like you, I do not give my affection freely to just anyone. There are few people whom I really love and even fewer of whom I think well, but you are most decidedly situated within both categories. I both adore and respect you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and have no doubts that our lives together will be filled with copious amounts of both. Though we are so very different in many ways, I believe that in those that count we are blessedly the same; where you want liveliness, I can produce it in spades; where I lack experience of the world, you can teach and guide me; and where we both require someone to confide in and offer support, we have one another. I will never regret marrying you and so you can forget that nonsense this very moment. Now that I understand you better, I recognize that you are exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, most suit me as the companion of my future life."

Fitzwilliam now took up her second hand and, in bringing both up to his mouth, began relaying his gratitude for her earnestly sincere words in fervent kisses. "I shall do all that I can to deserve this faith you have put in me as your husband and strive daily for your happiness. Though we had an inauspicious beginning, I shall exert myself to make sure that you never repent becoming my wife."

"Come now, Husband," Elizabeth coaxed gently, her own features softening like warm butter as she freed one of her hands to cup his cheek with her palm, "let us only remember the past as it brings us pleasure."

After that, pleasure was all they recalled as the rest of the trip was spent behaving as newlyweds who were fortunate enough to be violently in love should.

o0o

Much later that evening in the mistress' chambers of their London household, Elizabeth sat before her mirror with nervous anticipation of her new husband's imminent arrival. She had dismissed the maid as soon as she had been undressed, allowing the girl to do nothing at all with her hair other than remove the pins and untangle the braids, and now attempted to quell her anxiety with whatever minutes she had left before Fitzwilliam breached the door between their rooms. She glanced at it frequently and jumped at every noise which seemed to imply that he was come.

It was more than a little silly, Elizabeth mused, to be so jumpy on her wedding night considering the deed which was to be done had already been accomplished with some thoroughness weeks before, but she could not help the fluttering of her heartbeat nor the pins and needles of impatient expectancy which she was feeling. The night of the compromise she had not had all of her wits about her and the act itself had been performed in a haze of inebriation which meant, amongst other things, that she had not had time to work herself into a lather over what had been about to happen. Elizabeth was comforted by the thought that what was coming would not be painful – her memory very explicitly told her that it was quite the reverse – but would Fitzwilliam, with all his senses about him, be disappointed in her comparative lack of skill at the endeavor? It was not as if she really knew what to do or how to act in these circumstances, despite her previous experience. What if, in the bright candlelight, she did not please him as much as he had thought she would? Or what if she did something that he did not like? She could not bear it if he only grudgingly came to her in the future.

It was outside of ridiculous that she should feel so much trepidation, but it could not be helped and so Elizabeth prayed fervently to God that she be everything her husband desired this night.

With her eyes squeezed closed and the blood rushing in her ears, Elizabeth did not notice her husband's approach until she felt a hand upon her shoulder. She startled violently and whipped her head up to see Fitzwilliam standing over her as she remained seated in her vanity chair, a soft and slightly bemused smile upon his lips. "Are you well, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth swallowed to alleviate the dryness which suddenly suffused her mouth and throat. "Very well, I thank you."

Fitzwilliam was quiet for a long stretch of time, that enigmatic smile lightening his features, his eyes watching her with a sheen of silver across their surface. The hand which rested upon her shoulder raised itself and fingered the ringlets dangling over her ear, stroking them with a warm reverence.

"You are so beautiful…," he said after a great pause of yawning silence between them. "The most exquisite woman I have ever beheld."

Elizabeth's heart beat double time, a notch higher even than it had upon his entrance, and she felt her entire body suffuse with prickling heat at his compliment. "I...please you, then?"

Fitzwilliam's head listed slightly to one side and his brow furrowed slightly, as if confused. "You doubt it?"

"Well, I…," Elizabeth dropped her eyes to her lap where her fingers were twiddling with one another across her thighs, "I was not sure if...that is..."

There was a rustle of fine fabric and a shifting in the air as Fitzwilliam lowered himself down onto his knees before her. He moved the hand which had been fingering her curls to the tip of her chin and tilted her face up so that their gazes connected. "I believe I have made myself clear on this subject before, but in case you have forgotten I shall remind you; you are the handsomest woman of my acquaintance and I love you most desperately. I have waited for this night with much impatience and I would not, could not, be disappointed in any fashion. I do not know how much you recall of our previous _interlude_," his lips quirked up into a smirk at their oft-used euphemism for their compromise, "but I was most satisfied; indeed, I was quite wild and clumsy. You have bewitched me like no other woman and I hope to show you the appreciation which is your due."

As Fitzwilliam spoke with such gentle conviction, Elizabeth felt her nerves settle and her heart pound with only the ferocity of love she felt for this man. With no more fear to disconcert her, – or at least with it abated to the back of her mind rather than the forefront where it could plague her – Elizabeth leaned forward and pressed her smiling lips to his.

Fitzwilliam's hand slid along the line of her jaw and into the deep nest of her curls, tangling itself into the coffee-colored locks at the back of her head. He used this purchase to tilt her head to one side and deepen their kiss, his tongue bidding for entrance against her teeth. Elizabeth opened for him and he delved inside.

While his fingers were thus occupied, Elizabeth's moved to a project of their own. She tugged at the end of one of the ivory ribbons which comprised the bow at the front of her nightgown and, with only a small effort, the silk slid against itself and released the simple knot. Once unbound by the taut strand, the neckline of her sleeping frock loosened and gaped wider…

When Fitzwilliam pulled back from their consuming kiss for air, he found himself unable to immediately draw the breath he had sought. His eyes traveled down the length of her body, flushed with the heat of their combined passion, and fixed upon Elizabeth's bare chest. She sat there in her chair and allowed him to look his fill, her nightgown gathered in a ripple of white fabric at which she was the epicenter; the sleeves caught in the crooks of her elbows, the excess muslin puddled around her hips and her exposed bosom heaved to collect the breaths Fitzwilliam's startled lungs were disdaining.

"Elizabeth…"

With this simple gasp of her name, Elizabeth was again in her husband's arms and all of her previous worries floated away like the wispy smoke of a candle.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Ending on Lucky #13! How lovely. Final installment (the epilogue) coming up on February 20, slightly _earlier_ than originally promised.

Also, I kept this story just this side of explicit, but if you're interested in seeing some of the "deleted scenes" in which ODC get frisky, please let me know. I might just be convinced to write a bonus chapter at some point (I usually do, after all). For now, it feels right to leave the bulk of the story in the "fade to black" category.

Please forgive any/all mistakes; I only just finished some parts of this chapter right before posting it. Since I'm on a tight deadline here, I decided to risk it. However, I intend to do editing of the entire story in another couple of months, so perhaps any issues can be resolved then. All of that said, please do not hesitate to point out anything that requires my attention; sometimes an author can't see the forest for the trees.

**Next Update: **February 20, 2020 – THE END!  
**Completion Date:** February 20, 2020

– _MrsMarySmythe_


	14. Epilogue: Least Expected

**Title: **Under the Influence  
**Rating:** M – for sexual situations just this side of explicit.  
**Disclaimer:** _Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.  
_**Setting: **Regency

**Summary:** A disagreement with Mr Darcy on the dance floor at the Netherfield Ball has Elizabeth spiraling; could she have misjudged him and taken the word of a scoundrel? Too much spiked punch and an equally soused would-be suitor bring on a myriad of consequences. (Not explicit, but not clean, either.)

"Mr Bennet missed his second daughter exceedingly; his affection for her drew him oftener from home than anything else could do. He delighted in going to Pemberley, especially when he was least expected."

– _Pride and Prejudice Volume III, Chapter 19_

* * *

_**Epilogue:** Least Expected_

_Wednesday March 6, 1816_

Before closing the door to the hallway, Darcy looked to the left, then to the right, to reassure himself that there were no servants about. Satisfied, he shut the portal and locked it behind him.

A familiar voice, suffused with amusement, sounded from behind him. "What are you doing, Fitzwilliam?"

Darcy turned into the room, a broad, prideful grin spread across his features, and looked to where his wife was seated by the parlor window. She was as lovely as ever with her curls pinned back into a serviceable knot at the back of her head, the coffee-hued locks lit from behind by the golden glow of warm sunlight streaming in from the outside. She was wearing one of the frocks he liked best, a deep burgundy silk which did great justice to her figure, and he could not help but admire her in it for a long moment. A hoop of embroidery was in her hands, the needle paused in its work, as she regarded him with a pertly knowing smile and a raised eyebrow.

Recognizing the invitation in her expression, Darcy accepted it immediately by striding across the floor with purpose. He halted just in front of his dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, his beloved wife of the past five years, and relieved her hands of their project. He tossed the embroidery into the basket at her feet absently, his gray gaze latched onto her verdantly green one, and then reached out and pulled her to her feet. This much accomplished, Darcy was now capable of drawing Elizabeth into his arms for a kiss. He availed himself of this privilege – and with much gusto.

After several panting minutes locked in their embrace, Darcy was finally forced to retreat and tore his lips away. Once his breathing had leveled enough for rough speech, he announced, "_That_, my dear wife, is what I was doing."

Darcy's levity earned him a breathy laugh and a fond nuzzle to his jaw from Elizabeth. "I was not complaining, my love, merely inquiring. And here is another for you; what are you doing here? I thought you out all day attending to the dispute between the Wallers and the Griffins."

"Were you up to something you should not have been, Wife?" he teased with a raised brow he had imitated from her. "I should think you happy to see me."

"I am always up to _some_ sort of mischief, Husband, and I have long ceased to fear being caught at it. Now, will you be so kind as to answer my question?" Elizabeth's words were scolding, but her tone arch and lacking any hint of asperity.

As her ire was always impossible to mistake when it was truly present, Darcy continued in his playful manner. He dipped his head and began to kiss and nibble along the length of her neck as he did so, knowing it would please and torment her in equal measure. "And what sort of _mischief_ have you been up to? Shall I have to exert my husbandly authority and meet out punishment for your transgressions?"

Elizabeth's breaths were beginning to come in sputtering fits and starts as Darcy moved slowly lower down the column of her throat, but she managed to say, in a rather winded fashion that sent a spike of desire through him, "I...I suppose my behavior might call for it."

Darcy smirked against her sweetly scented skin. "Since you are willing to admit your wrongdoing," he paused to scrape his teeth along the swell of heaving flesh just above the neckline of her gown, eliciting an appreciative shiver from his beloved, "then I suppose I can afford to be somewhat merciful."

With this magnanimous proclamation, Darcy lifted his wife into his arms, cradling her against him as if she were still his new bride ready to cross the threshold into their lives together, and marched her over to the sofa he had scouted in advance just for this purpose. Elizabeth emitted a surprised sound which was some cross between a giggle and a shriek, but did not protest at the treatment. To the contrary, her fingers set to work loosening the knot of his cravat and her kisses began searching for the skin underneath.

Darcy spread his wife along the length of the sofa and lowered himself down atop of her. He used his forearms and knees to elevate himself slightly above her so that his larger frame would not crush her comparatively smaller one and set himself to the task of finding her pleasure. He did so with the selfish knowledge that she would soon reciprocate.

Just as Darcy's teeth had released one of the buttons along the lacy front of Elizabeth's bodice in a playfully barbaric fashion, they were most inconveniently interrupted.

"Mrs Darcy, your father – Oh! I beg your pardon! I had no idea the master was returned."

Darcy lifted his head away from his wife's bosom and scrambled into a more upright position. He strangely felt guilty for being caught atop his wife by his motherly housekeeper even though he had every right to be there. Perhaps he was simply recalling the mortification of his sister-in-law ruining his amorous encounters with Elizabeth all those years ago before they were married.

In any case, "Did you fail to note the locked door, Mrs Reynolds?"

The elderly housekeeper, who kept her back respectfully turned while her master and mistress untangled themselves from one another and righted their clothing, replied, "I entered from the grounds, sir, and the doors were unlocked."

The grounds. Darcy shot a regretful look toward the set of double french doors along the wall to his left and withheld a groan of self flagellation. He had forgotten to lock the doors to the grounds.

Elizabeth, who had successfully lowered her skirts and refastened the buttons her eager husband had put asunder, changed the subject. "You mentioned my father, Mrs Reynolds? Has he sent word, against all odds, to say whether or not my family is coming to Penny's birthday celebration?"

Mrs Reynolds chanced a peek over her shoulder and, finding the Darcys properly covered – even if the master was standing strategically behind the sofa – turned fully around to address her mistress' question. "No, ma'am, he is here."

"Here?"

"He arrived less than a quarter hour ago. I was just outside greeting his carriage on the drive."

The urge to groan aloud intensified and Darcy clenched his fists behind the small of his back to quell it. He and his father-in-law were in general agreement to tolerate one another's company for Elizabeth's sake, yet it was still clear that Mr Bennet had never entirely forgiven Darcy for the circumstances which had precipitated his daughter's somewhat hasty marriage. This resentment was revealed in a myriad of subtle ways, such as distant, unenthusiastic greetings whenever they should meet and an irritating habit of speaking over his son-in-law as if he were not present. Darcy could live with these passive forms of needling as they did not bother him overmuch – let the old man have his petulance – but the one defiance of his authority he could not abide was Mr Bennet's execrable tendency of showing up unannounced and without proper invitation. Darcy recognized it as a ploy to punish him for taking Elizabeth so far away and also usurping Mr Bennet's fatherly authority by drunkenly compromising her virtue, thereby essentially forcing a union, but it was both childish and unacceptable behavior on the part of a man who, by dint of his greater age, should have been too mature to descend to it.

Mr Bennet had certainly outdone himself on this occasion; not only had he come to Pemberley when least expected – as Penny's birthday celebration was not scheduled for some weeks yet – but he had also managed to interrupt a private interlude between husband and wife. Had it not been entirely impossible, what with the nature of this rendezvous being spontaneous, Darcy might have suspected Mr Bennet of purposefully orchestrating it.

"Thank you, Mrs Reynolds. Have the maids begun preparing his usual rooms?"

"Yes, Madam."

Elizabeth smiled fondly at the housekeeper. "Of course they have, I need not have asked; you are always anticipating me."

The slight softening of Mrs Reynolds' lips indicated that she was withholding a smile, leaving only a hint of her appreciation for her mistress' praise behind on her professional facade. Darcy knew that once Mrs Reynolds had bestowed her approval it was rarely withdrawn and that her loyalty was more implacable than his resentment. It was not necessary for a housekeeper to approve of her mistress, nor even like her, but Darcy would have been exceedingly disappointed if Elizabeth had fallen short of Mrs Reynolds' expectations; as his former nurse, she was practically as much a mother to him as his own mother had been before passing from the world. Thankfully, Elizabeth had exerted her guileless charm and now the housekeeper was her champion against any and all below stairs who might grumble about her common origins. Mrs Reynolds would tolerate no whispers of that sort, such was her fondness for Elizabeth. On occasion, she had even taken her mistress' part over her master's, something that admittedly sparked a touch of jealousy within Darcy's breast whenever it occurred. It was a blessedly rare occurrence.

"I aim to please you in all ways, Mrs Darcy. I have further taken the liberty of having Mr Bennet shown to the library and ordered some refreshments for him."

"Excellent, Mrs Reynolds. You have thought of everything. We shall be along in a moment to greet him; you may return to your usual duties." Elizabeth flashed the housekeeper another smile and nodded her head.

Mrs Reynolds dropped into a stiff curtsy and retreated from the room, leaving through the door which Darcy had secured earlier. Their private moment was truly at an end.

Finally releasing the irritation he had been holding back while in Mrs Reynolds' presence, Darcy sighed and offered his open palm to his wife. "Shall we?"

Recognizing his ire, Elizabeth accepted his hand and placed a soothing kiss upon the fingers which curled around hers. "We shall."

o0o

When the Darcys entered the library a scant few minutes later, they found Mr Bennet seated comfortably in an armchair by the fire. There was a small leather tome spread open in his lap, a small stack of additional ones upon the end table next to him, a tea saucer balanced in one hand and an overall air of satisfaction settled over him. Darcy was tempted to call for his guest's carriage and send the presumptuous old sod to the village where he could impose upon the inn's hospitality, but Elizabeth would never countenance such treatment of her beloved father and so he must suffer Mr Bennet's smug presence. Though Darcy refused to be happy about it.

"Papa!" Elizabeth cried upon breaching the room, releasing Darcy's hand so that she could go to her father.

Mr Bennet looked up from his book, placed both it and his teacup upon the table in front of him and rose from his seat just in time to catch his favorite daughter up in a hug. It was, perhaps, an undignified greeting, but at home with only her loving family and indulgent servants to look on Elizabeth was afforded some leniency of decorum. Besides, she had been caught doing far more improper things and been happily forgiven for them before. There was one particularly memorable time by the lake involving her frock – since retired and turned to scraps – a playful spaniel – who now obeyed none but his wife – and a great deal of mud. The story was often retold at parties.

"Lizzy!" Mr Bennet held his dearest child to himself for a few long seconds before releasing her to take a good look at her visage. "You are looking well enough. Is that man taking good care of you?"

Darcy flicked his eyes up to the ceiling in a bid to the Almighty for patience with his father-in-law. Another way in which Mr Bennet showed his ongoing disrespect was to refer to his son-in-law as "that man" as if Darcy were some transient, unimportant presence in Elizabeth's life and nothing more than a burden for her to endure. "As you see," Darcy answered for her, somewhat testily, "Elizabeth is in perfect health."

Mr Bennet ignored Darcy utterly, as Darcy knew he would, and continued to speak to Elizabeth exclusively. "And how are the children? Where are they?"

"I am well," Elizabeth replied, a reprimanding tilt to her head and brow, "and the children are with their nurse in the garden. The weather is so fine today that they have gone to feed the ducks down by the lake."

"Just like their Mama," Mr Bennet said fondly. "Always out of doors. Is my girl reading yet? I have brought her a book of fairy tales."

Elizabeth laughed. "Papa! She is only just turning three on the fifteenth. Let her learn her letters first."

"Very well. And my grandson?"

There was a sly twinkle in Elizabeth's eye as she quipped, "He cannot yet read, either."

Mr Bennet guffawed at his daughter's sally. "I have missed your wit, my Lizzy! Your wedding day was the last day any sense was spoken at Longbourn. As for Alex, he would have to be some sort of prodigy to be reading at only a few months old, but his sister will take it up soon, mark me; you were about her age when _you_ began and she is her mother's daughter."

Another irritation; Mr Bennet persisted in claiming the children as all Elizabeth's as if Darcy had not had a hand in their upbringing alongside her. Moreover, though Penelope indisputably took after her mother with her cocoa brown curls, mossy eyes and precocious wit, Alexander was an almost exact copy of his father. There was no disputing the boy's patrimony with his black hair curled in tight spirals, his misty gray eyes and serious mien. Remarkable children both, in his unqualified opinion.

"And where is Mama?" asked Elizabeth, looking around the room as if she expected to see Mrs Bennet pop out from behind a sofa or the emerald velvet drapes. Darcy looked about him, too, for he would not put it past his mother-in-law to do something of the sort.

"I have left her at Rosecliff," said Mr Bennet offhandedly. "I suspect your sister will drop her off on _your _doorstep tomorrow once she has got her fill of Mrs Bennet's incessant spoiling of little Grace."

Naturally, Darcy would also be blessed with the presence of Mrs Bennet on this unanticipated trip. Better and better. At least his mother by marriage would acknowledge his presence, even if sometimes he would prefer that she did not.

Darcy sat in a chair across from father and daughter and interjected himself into the conversation lest he actually be forgotten. "And the girls? Are they also with the Bingleys?"

Mr Bennet pivoted his head and, rather grudgingly, acknowledged Darcy. The wry smile upon his mouth indicated he was only mildly irritated to have to share his tete-a-tete with Elizabeth, however. As Darcy had suspected, the old man had merely been attempting to rankle him with his inattention. "Lydia is there, but Kitty decided to stay in Town with Mary to be closer to her Mr Evans. Apparently, she cannot bare to be parted with him for even a month."

A _month_? "I see."

"Georgiana will be pleased to see Lydia when she arrives. They have been corresponding so fervently about their upcoming Season that it will save us much on writing supplies now that they can converse face to face." Elizabeth's pitch was heightened and her words coming rapidly. The darting glances in his direction and the evolving grimace on her features confirmed to Darcy that she recognized his displeasure. That the Bennets had, apparently, invited themselves to stay for a _month_ complete with no prior word on the subject would likely have annoyed even those with the greatest reserves of patience – Darcy was sure to hear something from Bingley about this escapade if he, too, were blindsided by it – so her conjecture was hardly inspired by genius.

With his old promise of accepting and tolerating his in-laws' idiosyncrasies in mind, Darcy relaxed his expression and consoled his wife's worries with a small upturn of his lips. More than likely, the Bingleys would be persuaded to share the Bennet Burden and the Darcys would therefore only be required to host them for half of the allotted time. A fortnight was not so very bad. Elizabeth's stance visibly drooped in relief as she returned his smile apologetically.

"It will be a relief to us as well, my dear." Mr Bennet carried the conversation forward with nary a hint of guilt for imposing himself and his family upon their Derbyshire relations for such a lengthy period. "Ever since Lydia returned from Mrs Goddard's, she has been chomping at the bit for society that a country neighborhood of only four-and-twenty families cannot provide. Derbyshire is not much more varied," here Mr Bennet slid a sly glance in Darcy's direction, "but at least it is comparatively fresh and she will have Miss Darcy for a companion. Kitty has been so often in Town with Mary that we hardly ever see her at Longbourn at all. It is almost as if she were already married!"

Miss Catherine Bennet, the second youngest of his sisters-in-law, was recently engaged to a young man with a moderately sized estate in the south and expected to marry him in the summer. She had met him during her first London Season the previous autumn and their courtship had, according to Georgiana's – who had shared her coming out with Miss Kitty – information, been "very romantic, indeed." Mr Evans was not a particularly impressive man in regards to connections or fortune – his estate in Surrey being only slightly larger than his bride's childhood home – but he seemed a decent sort and undeniably besotted with the pretty Kitty Bennet.

In a most fortuitous coincidence, Kitty's new home would be located in Kingston, only a short distance away from the school she and two of her sisters had attended upon Darcy's recommendation – and Elizabeth and Jane's insistence – to improve their manners and afford them some accomplishments where before there had been none (or at least none likely to attract a husband). Mrs Goddard's school for young ladies was not a particularly eminent institution, but it provided a decent education for simple country girls requiring a firm hand and a bit of polish. Darcy had intended to send them to the same seminary that Georgiana had attended, but he had been soundly denied by his sister, who had despised the place utterly, and the Bennets who would not accept such charity; they preferred something more moderate and in line with their own social standing. At least, that had been _Mr_ Bennet's opinion and, for once, his wife had not been able to convince him otherwise. It seemed that Darcy's father-in-law had more pride than anyone had suspected before. Or, perhaps, he was simply not of a mind to agree with Darcy on anything whenever it could be helped.

Upon the recommendation of an old school chum and personal solicitor, a Mr John Knightley, Darcy had then discovered Mrs Goddard's and a compromise had been reached. Mary, Kitty and Lydia had all been sent to the boarding school six months or so after the Darcys' marriage and done well there. The younger two's more improper behavior had not been tolerated there as it had been at home and they were thus forced to curb some of their more foolish impulses. They had then directed their wild energy into more acceptable pursuits and, with no red coated officers to distract him, had achieved some success. In addition, the attention of a high born lady from the area afforded them further motivation to become genteel young gentlewomen and they had blossomed.

Mary, for her part, found herself more willing to socialize with her fellow boarders than she had been with the young people of Meryton. She found their interests to be more in alignment with her own, her studiousness appreciated by the girls who required assistance in their lessons and overall her worth more recognized by those around her. Mary had enjoyed the role of teacher and mentor so much that, upon leaving school, she had chosen not to return to Longbourn at all, perhaps realizing that she would only be back to her former position of useless middle daughter. Instead, she had been accepted into the Gardiners' household as their governess. This situation had benefited all parties; the Gardiners had a well read and eager educator for their young ones and Mary was no longer consigned to the unenviable fate of spinster companion to her silly mother.

All best laid plans, however, go awry in some fashion and Mary was not a governess for above eight months before she met and subsequently married a solicitor friend of Mr Gardiner. Mr Winthrop was older than Mary by a significant margin at neatly fifteen years her senior, but his maturity was a boon to the quiet Miss Mary. They now lived in London a few streets away from the Gardiners who had been happy to relinquish their niece upon the joyful occasion of her marriage. Mr and Mrs Winthrop had been united for nearly a year at the present, their anniversary being in the summer, and had yet to be blessed with children of their own. They were now also, apparently, hosting Kitty so that she might remain in closer proximity to her Mr Evans who by common report preferred life in Town compared to that of his parents' retirement in the country.

Lydia had emerged from Mrs Goddard's much as she ever was – brash, bold and fearless. However, with the experiences obtained during her nearly three years of residence there and the maturity of more seasons to her name, she was not so ungovernable as she had been at fifteen. Lydia would always be lively and fond of a good laugh, but she had at least acquired some good sense and propriety to balance those tendencies and keep her wildness in check. She sometimes reminded Darcy of his own dearest Elizabeth now that her humor was tempered by greater wisdom and intelligence, though Lydia would never quite sparkle like her elder sister. Perhaps he was too partial to be a proper judge, however.

Lydia was due to come out in London society in the autumn and attend Georgiana, who was on her second season, though the youngest Bennet proclaimed herself in no hurry to find herself a husband. Elizabeth had confided in Darcy that she found Lydia's attitude on this topic to be very amusing, indeed, for it had been the girl's dream at fifteen to be married before all of her elder sisters. Lydia had apparently left that silliness behind, and all for the better in Darcy's opinion; as the flighty little coquette he had met in Hertfordshire in the autumn of 1811, Lydia would have surely driven her family to scandal had she made a sincere effort to attain her goal. No honorable gentleman would have wished to marry her as she had been then.

Lately, her letters to Georgiana had all proclaimed Lydia eager to partake of the delights afforded a single young lady at the height of her youth in the glittering society of London. She would, according to her own information, not settle down until she tired of doing so, causing Elizabeth to quip that Lydia might _never_ marry in that case. Such would be a great disappointment to Richard who had taken quite a liking to the youngest Bennet daughter at various family functions throughout the years, despite the decades which separated them in age. But then, Richard had always preferred lively young women, even commenting once that had he met Elizabeth first he might have tried to tempt her away from Darcy (he had been roundly cuffed on the head for that remark). Perhaps if he could somehow promise Lydia even more fun – and Darcy chose not to fathom how that might be accomplished – he could sway her over to his way of thinking and lead her to the altar at last.

The most unsurprising fate of all the Bennet sisters belonged to the eldest who, after much stalling on Mrs Bennet's part (requiring the more firm intervention of Elizabeth to curb their mother's exuberance for wedding planning), Jane was finally married to Bingley in early April of 1812, only slightly over two months after the Darcys had said their own vows. It was really best case scenario, Elizabeth had informed him, as Mrs Bennet could have happily dug her heels in and submerged Longbourn in lace and breakfast details for a twelve month had she been allowed her way. Whatever torment she had been authorized to put the Bingleys through during those two short months had apparently worn their patience down and they had given up the lease on Netherfield the following September. They now resided in Derbyshire within thirty miles of Pemberley. The Bingleys had proven to be less fertile a couple than the Darcys, but had finally welcomed a daughter, Grace, into their household the previous summer at which point Miss Bingley had removed herself soon thereafter to London.

Miss Bingley, having spent the most fruitful years of her youth chasing after Darcy (or, more accurately, Pemberley), had missed her chance entirely for marriage and, at seven-and-twenty, was most decidedly on the shelf. Until little Grace had come along and driven her impatient auntie away, Miss Bingley had depended upon the kindness of her brother and his wife for her upkeep. Mrs Hurst, now the mother of her husband's heir, was no longer disposed to keep her unmarried sister's poisonous and increasingly bitter attitude under her roof; young Herbert was supposedly too delicate for such cold treatment as Miss Bingley offered children. Thus, Miss Bingley had moved permanently into her own establishment at a fashionable address in London the autumn immediately after Grace Bingley's birth, paid for out of the dowry which had been apparently not enough to tempt any man to take her.

Speaking of the Bingleys, "Did you say Jane would be bringing the others tomorrow, Papa?"

"That was the information I was provided with, yes. I chose to come ahead to spend time with my little Lizzy before we are interrupted by all that female nonsense. And I could not wait to give Penny her book."

As if summoned by the prospect of a present, the door to the hallway flew open and a little girl with a mop of curly dark hair bounded into the parlor with a great amount of enthusiasm. Little Penelope Darcy, not quite three years old, ran straight to where her grandfather was seated and threw herself into his lap. "Grandpapa!"

For all his faults as a father-in-law, Darcy would allow that Mr Bennet was an attentive and affectionate grandfather to the children. Even little Alex, who was more selective in who he would admit to holding him than his elder sister, was reaching for his grandpapa from his nurse's arms as she approached with the babe.

"I am so sorry, Mr Darcy, Mrs Darcy; she quite got away from me as we came inside," the nurse fretted as she struggled to contain Alex within her hold. "I shall instruct her again not to come into rooms with guests without proper invitation."

Elizabeth waved the babbling apologies away with an unaffected laugh. "Do not concern yourself, Abby; sometimes children of her age will do as they do, especially when a favored person is visiting." Her gaze traveled to where Penny was perched upon Mr Bennet's lap; he was just unveiling the promised book of fairy tales and the child was suitably impressed. "It would not hurt to have a reminder of good behavior, of course, but you are not in any sort of trouble."

"Thank you, ma'am."

As Abby acceded to Alex's fussy insistence to also be brought closer to his grandfather, Darcy leaned closer to his wife to whisper in her ear, "It is your father I would wish to scold, not Penny. What can he be thinking, inviting them all here for an entire month without an invitation?"

"Technically speaking, Husband," Elizabeth hissed back, her brows arched upward, "they did have an invitation to Penny's birthday celebration."

Darcy was tempted to remind his wife that this same celebration was not scheduled for some time yet and a letter with advance notice of their coming would still have been polite, but he held it back.

She must have seen something of his continued irritation on his face, however, for Elizabeth tipped slightly closer and kissed him upon the cheek. The children and nurse were all absorbed in whatever Mr Bennet was saying so none witnessed the slyly executed affection between husband and wife. "Do not pout, sir, for it is unbecoming."

"I do not pout."

"No, of course not," Elizabeth agreed immediately, though her expression suggested that she was humoring him. Darcy stiffened and fixed her with a frown he knew she would not be intimidated by. "However, considering your romantic assignation was interrupted by my father's arrival, I feel obligated to make it up to you in some way."

Darcy straightened in his seat, immediately at attention, and Elizabeth laughed softly at him.

"Not this moment, Fitzwilliam," she whispered and he deflated slightly. Naturally, they would both have to attend their guest and their normal duties before they could resume their activities of earlier, but in his excitement he had quite forgotten the order of things and disappointed himself. "Come to me tonight when we will not suffer any interruptions. I shall submit myself to that punishment you thought so fitting earlier and grovel for any offenses of others that have spoiled your mood."

"It is a deal, Mrs Darcy."

o0o

_Thursday March 7, 1816_

It was a glorious day for the beginning of March in Derbyshire. The temperature was a touch cool for most, but the sun was warm and round in the blue sky and Elizabeth was not of a mind to complain. She dropped her eyelids closed, raised her face to heaven and absorbed the sunlight like an early spring flower. Being out of doors, especially on a day like Elizabeth was currently experiencing, was always an effective method of calming inner chaos.

"I thought I might find the two of you here."

Elizabeth relinquished her basking pose with a smile and no regrets. She turned toward her elder sister, still the image of a perfect English rose, and said, "Jane! Papa said that you might come today. Forgive me for not standing to greet you properly." Shifting her arms slightly, Elizabeth gave Jane a brief peek at the face of the sleeping infant cradled comfortably against her shoulder.

Jane lowered herself daintily to the blanket spread out for Elizabeth and the newest Darcy, her skirts folding neatly beneath her knees as she knelt next to them. She bent closer to the slumbering bundle and slowly, gently pulled the swaddling to the side so that she might gaze upon the babe unhindered. "He is truly the very image of his father, Lizzy. Fitzwilliam must be so proud."

"You mean more so than usual?" Elizabeth quipped; the babe shied away from the bright sunlight his auntie had exposed him to and nuzzled deeper into his mother's bosom. "I will say in my husband's defense that Alex here will be as handsome as his papa one day. Where is little Grace?"

"With the nurse; Penny wished to show her the new volume of fairy tales her grandpapa brought her." Jane withdrew to sit beside her younger sister, unwilling to disturb six month Alex any further.

Elizabeth's eyes arced upward to the sky, yet smiled with fondness. "And I am sure my daughter cares not whether her little cousin is old enough to appreciate such things."

"Grace will like the pictures, at least."

"Of course."

The two sisters settled into a companionable silence and gazed out upon the view. It was Elizabeth's favorite spot close to the manor house – she had other preferences further yonder into the woods, near the peaks and on the other side of the lake – because it most spectacularly represented the best of what Pemberley had to offer. They were seated on a slight rise and were afforded a nearly panoramic vista of lush fields, newly green with fresh life, to their left and right and directly below them at the base of the slope was the lake. It was actually a stream swelled to greater prominence, but it was so wide and deep in places that it might as well be called a lake as not, in Elizabeth's opinion. A forest, tall and mighty, curved around the far bank and shielded their privacy from the outside world. The house itself was to their backs and stood as if benevolently observing its surroundings, it's sandstone walls blending almost seamlessly into the environment as if Pemberley had sprung up from the earth like another mountain.

As much as Elizabeth loved and appreciated this spot for its soothing qualities, she still felt quite agitated after the events of the day before. To think that her father, against all requests, pleas and outright demands Elizabeth had heaped upon him in the past five years, would still show up unannounced at Pemberley just to rankle poor Fitzwilliam...Elizabeth would have felt some sympathy for what her mother surely went through at the sharp end of Mr Bennet's teasing if Mrs Bennet had not been party to this latest scheme. Her husband was most displeased and Elizabeth could hardly blame him; this behavior must stop.

Elizabeth breathed deeply and huffed the gathered air back out immediately. She gazed into the near distance, observing the way the sunlight glittered upon the ripples spreading across the lake, and attempted to calm her agitation. Jane would not appreciate a disparaging tone regarding anyone, least of all someone – or a group of someones – she loved. "I suppose you brought Mama and Lydia with you, as well? Papa said they would likely be coming today."

"Yes," Jane confirmed, her own breath whooshing out of her in a sigh; it was the closest she would ever come to openly disapproving. "They are up at the house taking tea with Georgiana. Charles and Fitzwilliam, I think, are out riding and Papa must be – "

" – in the library, where else?" Elizabeth finished for Jane with a small, wry laugh. "He will surely hole himself up in there for his entire visit as he does at home. I rather wonder why he bothers to come all the way to Derbyshire to do so; perhaps he tires of the look of his own books and wishes to look upon my husband's?"

"Lizzy."

Elizabeth, having failed to rein in the annoyance she had intended to mask for Jane's sake, took in another deep breath and released it more slowly. She then turned to her elder sister, who was gazing upon her with a touch of sternness about the lines of her expression, and smiled. "Forgive me, Jane, but I have not your goodness – and neither does Fitzwilliam. I admit, we were both a little put out when Papa appeared on our doorstep yesterday. Tell me, did they give _you_ any indication of their plans, or were you equally surprised?"

Jane shook her head in the negative. "I am sure they did not _mean_ to put anyone out."

"Perhaps not," Elizabeth conceded, more so to reflect Jane's opinion than her own, "but they must have been aware of the very great upheaval their sudden appearance would cause. Every time I think they have grown a little in sense and decorum – "

"Lizzy."

Elizabeth laughed and Alex shifted fussily in her arms, disturbed by the sudden noise. He settled back into his swaddling, however, and was otherwise unaffected. "I fear you are going to be scolding me all day, for I really am quite irritated at this latest farce. I have asked Papa time and again not to show up here unannounced, to at least send a letter ahead of himself so that we might have a little warming, but he likes to tweak Fitzwilliam's nose so much that I fear he will always be doing it."

"At least they get on better than they did at first," Jane commented diplomatically. "And considering the...the _unpleasantness_ during your engagement period, it could be much worse than it is."

"I suppose you must be right," Elizabeth admitted, lowering her gaze to her sleeping son. Alex looked so much like his papa, even in the way his brow crinkled. She had never known such a serious child! Penny had come into the world as a ball of noise and had yet to cease her caterwauling, precious thing. She spared a soft smile for both of her children and felt calm spread through her. "I am still unhappy with the way Papa taunts my husband, but at least they can be civil to one another. And I know that Papa does it all in good fun, that he means nothing truly malicious by his antics, but I still wish he would be more considerate of mine and Fitzwilliam's feelings on the subject. It is no longer as funny as it once was."

Jane's brow was lowered and she was nibbling at her lower lip. She was clearly torn between the desire of defending their family and soothing Elizabeth's ire and finding difficulty in treading the middle ground between. "Perhaps if you speak to Papa again..."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I have and he just laughed, saying that Fitzwilliam should learn to be teased a little. There is no reasoning with him." In her husband's defense, Fitzwilliam had taken quite well to being teased over the years by his wife, but was less patient with his father-in-law's brand of tomfoolery. "Come, let us change the subject to one less rife with conflict."

"Agreed," Jane said, relief evident in the way her shoulders slumped slightly downward. "Have you heard from Charlotte lately?"

"She sent me a letter just last week; little Catherine has taken quite well to her little sisters, though she complains of the noise. This makes three girls for the Collinses and I suspect our cousin is beside himself. I suggested to Charlotte that they attempt for five altogether and she was most amused by the thought."

The sisters laughed together at the thought of yet another family settled at Longbourn with an excess of daughters. Elizabeth thought it would be a novel kind of retribution to saddle a man who had attempted to utilize the lack of an heir in his cousin's brood to wrangle himself an unwilling wife with a bevy of girls who would need to be married off to the highest bidder. It amused her to picture Mr Collins aflutter with nerves over seeing them all safely disposed of to respectable gentlemen in another dozen years or so.

"I am sure Mr Collins is very pleased, regardless of the twins' gender," said Jane at length. "For all his faults, Charlotte considers him a good father."

'_Mostly because he stays out of Charlotte's way and allows _her_ to tend the children_,' Elizabeth thought to herself, but did not say. Truly, Mr Collins' best quality was his ability to heed his wife's orders, especially since Lady Catherine's passing four years prior. Once the old dame had gone to meet her reward in the hereafter, Charlotte had taken up the reins of her marriage and molded Mr Collins into something almost respectable. He was still rather dull and incurably loquacious, but when led by a sensible person like Charlotte he was almost tolerable company. Not quite, but almost; whenever they visited Richard at Rosings Park Mr Collins was there to greet them at the parsonage gates and it was not as much a chore as it could have been to speak with him.

Elizabeth had wondered and fretted for some time over the state of her friend's marriage, especially while Lady Catherine yet lived, but once the bitter harridan had passed from a rage-induced apoplexy – no one could quite say what she had lathered herself up about, but whatever it had been had been enough to finish her off – Charlotte had seized her opportunity to arrange their lives to her wishes. Being a woman of greater intelligence and stronger will than the imbecile Mr Collins, Charlotte had reordered their lives into something resembling happiness with no regard to her husband's thoughts on the matter.

For Mr Collins' part, he seemed content enough with the new arrangement; it seemed that all he required was a strong head to lead him and he was satisfied with his lot. According to Mr Bennet, the elder Mr Collins, William Sr, had been a cruel, forceful man and so his son had been raised to heed commands rather than make them. Lady Catherine had been much the same. With Charlotte, Mr Collins at least had a kinder mistress than he had experienced previously; there was no manhandling or belittling, no bruises or condescension, only a firm hand and the reward of a productive life.

Mr Collins had at first, of course, looked to Miss Anne de Bourgh for new leadership after the passing of the young lady's mother, but Elizabeth's cousin-by-marriage had neither the strength of body or of character to fill this void for the parson, leaving him to the tender mercies of his wife. Instead, Anne had thrown herself into the power of her uncle, the earl, and moved to London within a month of Lady Catherine's funeral where she could carry out her mourning in the bosom of whatever family she had remaining. She was still a sickly, fragile thing, but she thrived upon the attention lavished upon her by the team of doctors hired by the earl and countess to see to her every sneeze.

Richard, too, had benefited from this new arrangement in that Anne, who had never intended to marry at all, and certainly not Elizabeth's Fitzwilliam as her late mother had wished, named him her heir. While she yet lived, it technically remained part of her dowry, but Anne had encouraged him to reside at the estate and take it over at his leisure, which he eventually had after resigning his commission. Mr Collins found not the patience in the former colonel to be his new master and so did not bother straying from Charlotte's guidance.

And, now that Richard was in her mind, Elizabeth asked Jane, "Is Lydia still intent that she will not marry this season?"

Jane shrugged one shoulder. "That is what she says, though I cannot think she would turn down an eligible offer should one be made to her. She must see how happily situated the rest of her sisters are and would wish for that herself."

"I think Lydia has always gone her own way," Elizabeth noted, which Jane conceded was the truth, "but if Richard should pay court to her in Town this season, I suspect she would be much tempted to accept him. Sometimes I wonder if she says such things only to increase his love by suspense for she must know that Georgiana is playing matchmaker between them."

"That does seem like our Lydia..."

"It would have honestly surprised me more if she had not made him work for her attention," quipped Elizabeth. "Lydia has always been fond of a bit of fawning."

"I am sure – "

Jane's thoughts were abruptly cut short as Alex let out a pitiful wail, indicating that he was both awake and quite famished. Elizabeth soothed him by patting his back and whispering words of love into his soft dark curls, but he persisted in wailing despite his mother's attempts.

"I'll take him, ma'am." The wet nurse, who had been lurking in the background and awaiting her charge's next feeding, stepped forward and bent down to take the babe. Elizabeth relinquished her son with some melancholy; they had been having such a nice time.

Elizabeth watched the wet nurse carry Alex into the house and sighed as soon as they were out of sight. "I suppose we should go in and take tea with our relations. Mama and Lydia must be wondering where I have got to."

"Lizzy, we could all guess where you were," said Jane as she stood, dusting invisible dirt from her gown. Her face was wreathed in an indulgent smile. "I was the search party."

Elizabeth laughed and copied her elder sister by climbing to her feet. Hooking her arm through Jane's, Pemberley's mistress began the short stroll back into her palatial home where her family waited for her.

o0o

The corners of Elizabeth's lips curled into a grin as she felt the curtain of her hair pushed aside to allow the exploration of her husband's lips. His hot breath ruffled the small curls against her neck and the sensation was as ticklish as it was arousing. "I see Hannah has abandoned me to your mercies, sir."

Fitzwilliam nuzzled just behind the shell of her left ear and began teasing the lobe with the tip of his tongue. "She was ordered to save herself or face my wrath."

Elizabeth chuckled and spun around on her vanity chair, forcing Fitzwilliam to back away slightly. "If I thought you had really said such a thing to my maid I would be forced to scold you, Husband. However, I suspect all you did was glower at her and she scurried away without a word."

"I did not _glower_." Elizabeth raised her knowing eyebrow at him and Fitzwilliam capitulated, "Perhaps I looked a little stern."

Turning back to her image in the mirror, Elizabeth resumed rubbing lotion into her hands and arms as Fitzwilliam lurked behind her, expectant. "I suppose you are here to collect on my promise from Wednesday."

"I am," he concurred, resting his hands upon the crests of her shoulders. His voice was directly in her ear, a throaty whisper, as he continued, "Come to bed, Wife."

Elizabeth bit her lips together to fight off the smile she was struggling to conceal. She had never been as adept at maintaining a straight facade in the face of humorous circumstances as Fitzwilliam was, but she wished to tease him a little longer. "On the contrary, I believe my offer of recompense is now void. You may return to your chambers for the evening." Elizabeth waved her hand in a shooing motion for emphasis.

Fitzwilliam lowered his face until they were cheek-to-cheek, his eyes narrowed at their reflections in the looking glass. Elizabeth schooled her features as best she could, but she knew he suspected a game was afoot. "I was promised some of your lovely company for all the inconvenience I have been suffering."

"Inconvenience?" Elizabeth scoffed, her lips twitching. "I might have felt _some_ sympathy for you at first, but that was before you spent the entire day with Charles riding about the estate, leaving me behind to attend to all of our guests. You should have come for your prize last night." Most unfortunately for him, she had been called away to the nursery before he had come upstairs the night before, thus forcing them to reschedule their rendezvous yet again. He had clearly made an effort to be upstairs earlier tonight since he was interrupting her toilette.

In the mirror, Elizabeth could see Fitzwilliam's handsome face cringe guiltily. So he had intentionally left her alone to her mother, sisters and children, as she had guessed. Well, that deserved a bit of revenge.

Tilting her nose up into the air, Elizabeth said, in the haughty tone which was reminiscent of the late Lady Catherine de Bourgh in all her regal splendor, "I believe that _I_ am now the aggrieved party, Fitzwilliam, and as such _you_ must pay atonement."

Fitzwilliam lost his air of contrition instantly and his mouth stretched into a mischievous grin. "I am prepared to grovel at your feet, if I must," he said, turning his face so that his nose was once again buried in her hair. Elizabeth shuddered as his fingers slid slowly down her arms, leaving tingling trails in their wake.

Clearing her throat with a little cough, another imperious affectation which also happened to alleviate the squeak in her voice, Elizabeth corrected, "It is not my feet at which I wish you to grovel."

The ribbon on the front of her nightdress loosened as Fitzwilliam's wandering fingers unraveled the knot. His voice was deep and rumbling as he acquiesced to her demands. "I shall do so all night if I must."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope you enjoyed my story at least as much as I enjoyed writing it; it was fun taking the angsty road for once (and, yes, this is pretty much as angsty as I get) and throwing crazy villains into the mix. We're all done now, but there's plenty more in my profile in case you miss me and so much more that I have planned in the future.

Thanks for reading, faving, following and reviewing. I've been humbled by your patronage :)

**Next Update:** NONE! We done, y'all.  
**Expected Completion Date:** NOW! Huzzah!

As the approval for bonus explicit chapters is apparently universal, however, you can expect to see a little bit extra tacked onto the end sometime soon. Can't say when, exactly, because other projects are demanding my attention, but I'm hoping by the end of March 2020. For now, I'm still marking this story as COMPLETE!

– _MrsMarySmythe_


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